


Sanguine

by daydreamer0083



Category: Star Trek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamer0083/pseuds/daydreamer0083
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on Fanfiction.net<br/>A continuous five year mission is approaching and tensions are running high. Which is only made worse when everyone's personal problems are added to the mix. What's wrong with the captain, anyway? Rated T for occasional language. Post-Into Darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mercurial

A/N:  
This work was originally posted on December 6th, 2015 on Fanfiction.net. All chapter notes were written as each chapter was posted.

Before the story starts, I should mention that all of the main characters will have a chapter from their point of view at some point and will be involved in the story, not just the people I put under 'characters'. Also, I should mention that OCs will be involved. It's kind of hard to run a starship with just the command crew. No worries, though. None of the original characters present will be romantic interests for any of the main characters.

On to chapter one!

-X-

Chapter 1: Mercurial

Dealing with James Tiberius Kirk would require patience and maturity, Nyota knew that. Yes, she knew it… but her mood was not a good one. Earlier that day they had honored those that had fallen in Khan's attack on the Enterprise and San Francisco. The weather had honored them too; a barely noticeable mist fell on the scene during the minute-long moment of silence. Now that the ceremony had concluded, there was a noticeable release of tension from the crowd that had returned to the base. Even though the sky was still cloudy, everything seemed a bit brighter. The dark uniforms that seemed so heavy and stiff just an hour ago were now light and people could finally breathe. Everyone's backs were unbent and shadowed eyes now looked up and around at the faces that surrounded them. Honoring the dead was a solemn occasion, but the upcoming mission made everyone remember that it didn't need to be depressing.

Nyota was not depressed. She was also not happy. She was damn annoyed.

The halls of Starfleet were packed with visitors and dignitaries from all over the world and every corner of Federation space. And when the halls were that crowded, she naturally had somewhere else to be. She considered every short cut and every bypass imaginable, but in the end she decided that the only option was to push her way through. Despite knowing her bad mood had something to do with her aggressive decision, she still went through with it and managed to get flipped off in almost every way known to mankind. Of course, she tried to ignore it and just continue to fight her way through the pack of people, but some of the ways other cultures indicated being royally pissed off were a bit crude. Disregarding them was more difficult than she had anticipated and by the time she reached her destination she was glowering at everyone.

Dealing with James Tiberius Kirk would require patience and maturity. Yes, Nyota knew that… and she didn't care. So, she just threw open the doors to the meeting room and stalked over to her chair between McCoy and Spock. Judging by the look on everyone's faces, all of them had a similar experience in the hall and all of them shared an equal amount of dread about the meeting. The Captain had been in an especially bad mood the past week and it was starting to rub off on the rest of them. She heard the door click shut behind her and then glanced around the room. At least she wasn't the last person to get there; there were two empty chairs.

The clock above the solitary window filled the space with echoing clacks. No one seemed to want to talk over it, but soon enough the silence was shattered. The breeze hit the back of her neck half a second after the door flew open. The sound of it bouncing off the wall and slamming shut again was accompanied by muttered Russian curses, some of which she hadn't heard before and filed away for later use. Obviously, Pavel had arrived. When he walked around the table she couldn't help raising an eyebrow at his appearance; he had had a harder time getting there than the rest of them. His grey shirt was wrinkled and his hair was a disaster zone, pushed up on one side and hastily flattened on the other. Pavel's face was bright red as he sat down in his seat across from her and Scotty and Hikaru were smirking book-ends on either side of him. Shifting in his seat, Pavel once again tried desperately to flatten his hair, but it was apparent to all it was a lost cause. After a while, everyone lost interest in his flustered appearance and went back to what they were doing before he came in. Namely, staring at the wall, the clock, out the window, and in basically every direction except for directly in front of them.

"You'd think – since he called the meeting – he'd be the first one here!" Scotty groused, startling everyone out of their reverie. There was no need to indicate who "he" was; there was only one empty chair left and it sat at the end of the table, presiding over a dim screen embedded in its surface. No one thought Scotty's indignation merited a response; since when had James T. Kirk been on time for anything? Next to her, McCoy just pulled on the edge of his shirt and moved in his seat.

"There were a significant amount of people in the halls when I was on my way here. Most likely the Captain has found himself waylaid by the same situation," Spock intoned. Nyota glanced to her left and let her mouth twitch into a smile at the sight of her boyfriend. "Boyfriend" was such an immature term, but it was the only one that didn't indicate much more than would have been accurate. "Lover" had too much physical contact in its connotation and "fiancée" was entirely inaccurate (even if it meant a larger sense of commitment) since they had no intention of getting married. Spock looked over at Nyota just at the same time as she did and nodded. To anyone who didn't know him, his expression didn't change. But to anyone who did know the half Vulcan, they could see there was just a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth when he looked over at her. That made her a little bit happier, but after those few precious moments of stillness, the door burst open for the final time and in stalked the Captain. He started talking before he even made it two feet into the room.

"Okay, none of us want to be here, so we'll make this as short of a meeting as possible. First off, thanks for helping me with crew approval. I actually managed to get it in on time yesterday, no thanks to the Admiralty and their due dates." Kirk fell into his chair with enough momentum that it spun all the way around before he managed to catch himself on the table to halt it. "Now why did they put god damn swivel chairs in a meeting room? I don't get it. If you need to see something, turn your chair. Chairs should not turn accidentally," he griped. While he continued to mutter to himself he turned on the screen in front of him and flicked through the crew files. "There were only two questionable candidates, one of which was expelled from the mission because of past discipline issues. Thank you, Chekov, for bringing that to my attention. The other was fine and I approved personally. Everyone should have gotten the final roster by now and can check over who is now working under you. Don't ask me why they waited until two days before the mission to get this to us, I asked and they decided to 'refrain from answering'. Any questions?" No one spoke. Next to her McCoy shifted in his seat some more. "Good. Next order of business – " and it went on like that for a while. They covered new manual override codes, new water policies for extended missions, official shift assignments, ideas to help stymie cabin fever before it started, and a few unpleasant topics such as new bathroom policies.

About a half hour later, Jim reached the end of his Starfleet mandated rant. "And finally, the Admiralty called me in a few days ago, as several of you noticed," the Captain swept his eyes over the room, and Nyota schooled her expression. Jim had come out of that meeting seething and his mood had only marginally improved over the intervening week. The only time he had really overcome his bad temper was when he gave his speech at the rechristening of the Enterprise. Nyota, along with the rest of the bridge crew, had decided that they'd had enough of Jim's behavior. So far everyone but Leonard had done their best to call Jim out on his mood, with varying results. After the meeting it was finally McCoy's turn and he had threatened that if his method didn't work he might actually drug Jim into a good mood. No one was one hundred percent sure he had been joking.

Jim gave a snort at the expressions of innocence and confusion that his crew had donned and continued, "I'm sure – since so many of you have approached me about this – you are all wondering when I'm going to get back to the old James Kirk you all know and love." He paused for laughter or groans of exasperation, but neither was forthcoming. "Oh come on, normally that would at least merit a sarcastic comment! I can't have been in that bad of mood!"

"Yeah, you could have. And, yeah, you have been," McCoy said. At the Captain's affronted expression he continued, "Jim, I want to have a word with you. Now and in private." There was a moment of tense silence before Kirk nodded.

"Fine. You're all dismissed." Nyota stood up and exited the room behind Spock. Scotty, Pavel, and Hikaru all filed out behind her, Hikaru pulling the door closed just as Nyota heard Jim say, "Okay, Bones. What do you want?" The halls were beginning to clear so the Enterprise's senior command crew congregated next to the entrance to the meeting room, getting as close to the wall as they were able so they wouldn't block traffic. Nyota was about to make her goodbyes when suddenly she could hear shouting, "For God's sake, Bones, I'm fine! Why are you all so hung up on this? I'll be back to normal on the mission, so what does it matter what I'm like right now? Just give me some room!" There was more muffled shouting after that and then Jim exploded out of the conference room, tossing the door to the side and stalking off down the hall. Nyota looked behind her and saw McCoy exiting the room at a more sedate pace.

"Obviously… that could have gone better," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. When he turned to walk away, Pavel dashed over to join him. Hikaru snickered and Nyota shot him a disapproving scowl.

"Why were you two laughing at Pavel when he came in for the meeting? He was just a bit rumpled; I'm sure we all were," she stated. In tandem with Scotty's and Hikaru's widening grins, Nyota's tone grew angrier.

"Yeah sure, we were all a little out of order," Scotty affirmed, looking like a cat in the cream.

"But not for the same reason!" Hikaru announced. The two of them started to laugh only to be cut off when Spock started to speak.

"You were in the meeting room and could not possibly know the reason for Lieutenant Chekov's appearance." The pilot and engineer only laughed harder. "Unless, of course," Spock said, now eyeing the two officers in front of him, "you are aware on information Nyota and I are not." Scotty finally cracked under the gaze of the first officer.

"Pavel has a girlfriend!"

Nyota felt herself smile. That was about the only good news she'd heard all day. 'Good for Pavel,' she thought, 'he deserves someone special.'

"Do you know who it is?" she asked. It occurred to her that she should probably make an appearance at this girl's room before they left on their mission and make sure that she knew that doing anything to break Pavel's heart would result in swift and severe retribution. It would be a complete coincidence, of course. Nothing would tie the Enterprise bridge crew to the sudden disappearance of a bunny called Snuffles or a stuffed bear named Fuzzy. Nothing at all.

"No, we don't know who it is." Hikaru's scowl told Nyota all she needed to know about his opinion on the matter. "We don't know anything about her. We don't even know if it's a 'her' or not. It could be a girlfriend, could be a boyfriend. It's basically Schrödinger's friend-of-indeterminate-gender. "

"Well that doesn't help narrow it down any," she muttered and started to think about a way to find out who this mystery significant other was.

"If you don't know who this person is, how do you know they exist? What evidence do you have of Lieutenant Chekov's being in a relationship at all?" Spock asked.

"If you don't know, don't ask," Scotty said, nodding sagely. "I was thinking about swiping the lad's phone or Pad when he wasn't looking. I'm sure if Hikaru can't guess the password Spock or I could hack it somehow."

"You will kindly leave me out of this," Spock said. Despite his dour tone, there was at least a hint of a smile there. "I will see you later, Nyota." He kissed her forehead – she was perfectly willing to admit she liked it when he did that – and then walked down the hall in the same direction as McCoy and Pavel.

"Alright then Mr. Stick-in-the-mud," Scotty said to Spock's receding back, "I'll hack it. Nyota, you can be the distraction. Hikaru, you grab the phone. I think our best chance is to get him now. Come on!" Scotty said, rallying his tiny army and marching off in the wrong direction. Hikaru and Nyota just looked at each other and shrugged.

"He'll catch on eventually," Nyota said and lead the way in the correct direction. They caught up to Pavel surprisingly quickly, just after passing McCoy coming back the other way, muttering about leaving something in the conference room. The young navigator was leaning against the windows that paneled one side of the hallway, staring at the jagged black skyline. The grey wall behind him and his slate colored uniform were illuminated by the soft, cool light that filtered through the clouds. His hair, still ruffled but now largely back in order, seemed dusty and pale. The whole scene was monochromatic, but in a romantic, dream-like way. At least, that was what Nyota thought until she saw his face. Pavel looked somewhere between confused and sad; he was tense and distracted and didn't hear them walking down the hall, despite the echoes that accompanied their footsteps. When she reached out to touch his arm he jumped in surprise.

"Nyota!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, you startled me. I was just thinking."

"What about? You looked like you just saw someone kick a puppy," Nyota asked, concerned. She walked to Pavel's left side to lean up against the window as well and position him so Hikaru was behind him. She almost didn't feel right about taking advantage of Pavel's trust like this but… she wanted to know who this mystery person was so she could know whose butt to kick should Pavel ever get that look on his face again.

"Not a puppy, exactly…" Pavel trailed off and then muttered in Russian, "Maybe a mean old dog who likes sticking people with hyposprays. But not a puppy."

Nyota inhaled sharply and then suddenly realized that Jim and Pavel hadn't been the only ones a little bit off during the meeting today. McCoy had seemed a little out of it, too. He had kept fidgeting. She wondered why she hadn't realized something was wrong with him.

"Leonard? What's wrong with Leonard?" she asked as Pavel's eyes widened. He must have forgotten who he was talking to. Forgotten she could speak Russian. Pavel opened his mouth to speak but Nyota cut him off. "Don't you dare say 'nothing'. We both know that's not true."

"I won't go into specifics, but…" the young Lieutenant seemed torn between telling her and keeping his friend's trust. "There was a family member that the doctor invited to the launch Thursday," Pavel never had gotten used to calling Leonard by his first name, or even his last name, "And he only invited this one person. But they can't make it, and Doctor McCoy said that he's sure they could have if they'd really wanted to." Behind Pavel, Hikaru gave a little wave and pocketed Pavel's phone. Nyota had to say she was surprised; she hadn't even seen him take it and she had never expected sleight of hand to be Sulu's thing. "Anyway, he says he's not that upset about it, but it's obvious he is. He went ahead and sent them a ticket, even though he knows it won't be used. I feel really badly for him and I want to help. Do you have any ideas?"

"No, I'm really sorry Pavel." Hikaru put a hand on his friend's shoulder and smiled, "I'll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow, that work?" he asked, stepping away.

"Sure, I guess."

"Sorry, Pavel. I can't think of anything, but if it's bothering you that much I'm sure you will," Nyota said, leaning over and giving him a hug. The halls were almost deserted by then so she could afford to be a little unprofessional. "I'll see you Thursday," she said and started walking after Hikaru. She wasn't quite sure, but there might have been a little bit of hurt in Pavel's expression as she turned away.

"Alright. See you Thursday," he called after them. When Nyota turned back around she saw him return to staring out the window. When she and Hikaru turned the corner back down the hall to the meeting room she couldn't help but say something.

"Pavel looks the same as he did before… before… you know… what happened. You remember," Nyota whispered, leaning closer with every word so she could be heard.

"Yeah. You're right… I'll check up on him tonight, make sure he's okay," Hikaru paused and then said, "You know, I might not wait. I think I'll just go ahead and check on him after we're done with the phone."

"That might be a good idea," Nyota said, an icy block sliding around in her stomach. "He promised not to, but…"

"Yeah, I get it, okay?" Hikaru hissed and ducked into a meeting room to his right. Scotty was already in there, feet propped on the table and leaning back in the black chair at the end of the table.

"Ah! Hikaru! Got my message. Good. Now let's see that phone!" He reached out and snatched the proffered phone. "It's too bad he's going to have to trade this in for a standard issue communicator while he's on board; this is one slick little computer." Scotty pressed a few buttons in a certain order and the screen turned a bright blue with a rotating line of white in the upper left hand corner. Several lines of code flashed on the screen before returning to almost plain blue. Scotty laid it down on the table and swiped down the device's side. A holographic keyboard appeared on the table to the right of the phone and Scotty typed several lines of code in a few seconds. For a moment, the screen turned black and Nyota thought they were in. But that was before the white light of the hologram keyboard flashed red and the blue came back on the screen with the words 'NICE TRY' written out in big letters. Scotty tried at least six more times to crack open the phone, only to have more and more mocking phrases thrown back at him. One time the entire message was 'HA HA,' followed by a winking emoticon.

"Damn it! What did that kid do? I've never been so insulted by a robot!" Scotty shouted, throwing his hands in the air. He returned the phone to its normal screen and then tossed it to Hikaru. "Here, try and guess the password. I give up." Nyota peered over Hikaru's shoulder as he typed in password after password – some of which Nyota recognized as navigational equations – and let out a growl of frustration when the eighth code was rejected.

"You guys made it seem like this would be easy," Nyota said, stepping back and crossing her arms.

"Now why would I make it easy for someone to get into my phone?" Nyota jumped and whipped around to look at the door. Pavel stood there, holding up his Pad. "I have an alert system," he said. "When someone tries to hack into one, I get a message and coordinates on the other." He walked forward and took the phone from Hikaru. Pavel's frown wasn't angry or disappointed. It was softer than that; it was more sad than anything else. "If you wanted the password you could have just asked. It's not like I have anything on here to hide. What were you looking for anyway?" Pavel sat down two chairs down from Scotty, looking at them all with heavily lidded eyes.

"We were looking for information on… the 'significant other' that Hikaru and Scotty say you have," Nyota said, moving to the chair next to Pavel. She suddenly realized it would have made a lot more sense just to ask him about it. Yeah, she was spending too much time around Jim and Scotty. "I'm sorry we tried to snoop and didn't ask you first."

"It's okay. Why did you want to know about Taylor?"

"We just wanted to make sure you didn't get your heart broken. We were just going to make sure…" Hikaru hesitated, "Taylor… understands that messing with you means messing with your friends, too, and we do not tolerate anyone breaking your heart."

"Why don't any of you think I can take care of myself?" Pavel sprang to his feet. "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own personal life, thank you very much for your concern! And just so you know, you guys aren't such great friends! You snoop on my phone, treat me like a child, and it only took you six months to catch on I was dating someone! And on top of that, Taylor and I broke up yesterday because of the mission, so you're a day late to threaten anyone!" Pavel stomped out of the room muttering in Russian.

"Shit," Hikaru breathed. He jumped out of his chair and ran out of the room. "Pavel! Pavel, wait!" Hikaru followed Pavel down the hall and their voices faded except for the occasional staccato leap in volume.

Nyota put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Pavel, Leonard, Jim, and probably Hikaru were all going to be in a bad mood at the start of the mission and she was the one who was going to have to referee until they found a way to sort out their issues. This was not going to be an enjoyable week.

"Wait, hang on!" Scotty exclaimed from his place at the end of the table. Nyota looked up questioningly. "If they supposedly broke up yesterday, why'd he come in today looking like he'd been dragged through a stable?" he asked and stared at the door. Nyota's brow furrowed. Whatever was wrong with Pavel, a bad break up did not appear to be as high on the list as it was a few minutes before.


	2. Reminisce

Chapter 2: Reminisce

"Pavel!" Hikaru was jogging in his attempt to catch up to his friend. "Pavel! Wait up! Please!" Hikaru glanced down the halls he was passing. They were finally deserted. He broke into a sprint and barreled down the passage after his friend's retreating figure. The second after Hikaru started to run, so did Pavel, and Hikaru would have cursed again except that he couldn't breathe. Between the two of them Pavel was the faster runner, and both of them knew that. Hikaru skidded around a corner just in time to see Pavel turn around the next one. 'When the hell did he get this fast?' Hikaru wondered. Then he exhaled loudly – at least it felt like it was loudly, what with all the air in his body leaving at once – and thought, 'This calls for drastic measures.' Bracing himself, he tripped over his own feet, tumbling down the hall and ending up lying on his back in the middle of the floor, groaning. 'I think this floor has gotten denser since the last time I had to do that…' His next thought was that it had been at least four years since he had intentionally tripped himself up and that he had probably just forgotten how much it hurt.

"Hikaru?" Pavel's voice was accompanied by soft footsteps. Hikaru just lay on the floor, gasping and trying to remember exactly what happened the last time he'd done this. "Hikaru, are you alright?"

"Fine," he puffed, rolling over to his stomach and pushing himself onto his knees. "Just knocked the wind out of me."

"So, you can space jump onto an incredibly small platform and get up and fight, but tripping over your own feet renders you useless, huh?" Pavel asked, crouching next to his friend. "Try again, Hikaru, and maybe I'll believe you. Not that I should, given the fact that you just stole my phone and faked tripping yourself up in order to get me to stop running." The pilot looked up at this friend and saw that there was something off… something not quite right. This was the look that Pavel got whenever he had to pull off a navigational miracle that shouldn't really be possible but the captain needed them to do anyway. It was Lieutenant Chekov's look, not Pavel's.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? That's why I had trip to make you come back, so I could apologize. I know I haven't been the best friend lately and I know that you're under a lot of stress, too. I'm sorry I took your phone and I'm sorry I didn't just ask you about, uh, Taylor. And I'm sorry I didn't notice that there's other stuff that's bothering you. Please, Pavel, can't we talk? I can tell there's something else wrong. It's not just having to break-up, it's not just McCoy, it's not just me being a crappy friend, and I'm pretty sure it's not just the mission. So what else? What else is bothering you?" Hikaru pleaded. Pavel crouched, silent, for just a second or two before he fell the final few inches to the floor and sat there, staring at his hands. Innumerable emotions flickered across Pavel's face in the span of a few seconds before it finally fell blank again. "Pavel?"

"You know me too well, Hikaru," he murmured and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Then he smiled, it was small and a little unsteady, but it was there. "I'm really tired. We can talk, but… tomorrow?" he asked, his voice so soft and distant that Hikaru had to strain to hear it. The pilot had to pause and consider it for a minute. Yeah, Pavel was smiling, but… there was something in his eyes; a shadow that Hikaru had never noticed before. And there was tautness to his voice that was almost imperceptible, but couldn't be hidden by his accent. No, Hikaru didn't want his friend alone while that shadow was still there.

"We don't have to talk," Hikaru confirmed. "But could we hang out? I promise to avoid all heavy subjects and we could do our old Tuesday night tradition from the Academy. Come on, please?" Hikaru entreated, doing his best impression of Pavel' own puppy dog face and shoving his friend in the shoulder.

"We're going to be spending five years in a confined space together. Why should we hang out now?" Pavel's smile was wider and his eyes were a little brighter and Hikaru had to congratulate himself.

"Because!" he exclaimed and Pavel jumped at the sudden increase in volume. "The first few weeks will be ironing out all of the bumps and listening to the captain whine and McCoy gripe and Nyota do her best not to kill all of us. We won't have any time to hang out and relax, so we might as well do it now!"

"So, we're reviving Tuesday Night Silent Soap Operas?" Pavel asked. Hikaru grinned.

The first Tuesday night Silent Soap Opera had actually occurred on a drizzly Monday. Hikaru had awoken in the middle of the night on Sunday evening… or so he thought. When he rolled over, dragging the majority of his blankets with him, he had peered through sleep crusted eyes to see his digital alarm clock cheerfully blinking the numbers "2:36" followed by a solid and hateful "AM". Instead of Sunday night, it was Monday morning.

"You have got to be kidding me," he had said, rolling onto his back, only at the last second remembering his young roommate. Hikaru sat straight up and stared over to where the other bed was, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He really hoped that he hadn't woken the kid up. When his eyes could finally see past the end of his own nose, Hikaru blinked in surprise and rubbed at his eyes a little more to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The darkness obscured a lot, but what it did not obscure was the fact that there was no Russian whiz kid in the bed across the room. The comforter was thrown back and the sheets were rumpled, but to all appearances Hikaru was in his room alone.

This was concerning. In the three weeks prior that they had both been in attendance at Starfleet's Academy, Hikaru had made one or two good friends. Pavel had not. In fact, except for classes he rarely left the dorm. Even for meals he spent as little time as possible outside of the room; he dashed out, stuffed some food into his mouth at the mess hall, and then dashed back to the room within the span of about fifteen minutes. Hikaru had actually been getting a little bit concerned during the second and third weeks of classes. Even if Pavel was young, he should at least be a little more social. But he wasn't, and that was part of the reason the Hikaru was concerned that Pavel was not in bed. The other reason he was concerned was that Pavel was not in bed at 2:36 in the morning was that their earliest class (they had remarkably similar schedules) was at 7:00 AM.

Hikaru clambered out of bed, pausing just long enough to drag his jacket off the back of his desk chair. He wrapped it around the ratty T-shirt and sweats he usually slept in and stumbled toward the door, yawning. When he tripped his way into the hall, he had to squint at the flickering blue light. It wasn't that bright; it didn't even come from the dimmed wall sconces that lined the hall. It came from the open archway that led to the common room for that floor. Figuring that would be the best place to start looking for his missing roommate, Hikaru staggered toward the light. When he finally reached the arch he had to pause for another minute to let his eyes adjust. The room didn't have much in the way of entertainment. There was a broken foosball table in the corner, a vending machine with the best snacks on the permanently-jammed slot C3, and an old television that got a maximum of twelve channels on a good day. Most of the time the actual numbered hovered around eight. The furniture was in about the same shape, if not worse. There was a threadbare grey couch that had a hole chewed in one of the legs, a recliner that could not recline, and four Parson Chairs around a card table with at least one leg each that was too short.

Peeking just over the top of the couch was a head of curly hair, its owner evidently watching the television. On the screen was a rerun of a soap opera that had been going on for ten years – only four of the original actors were left on the show. Apparently, that was what was shining that ungodly light down the hall.

"Hey," Hikaru murmured. The head whipped around and suddenly Chekov, Pavel Andreivich was peering over the back of the couch at him. "What are you still doing up, kiddo?"

"I could not sleep. I had... night… horse?" The kid looked down, sheepish, and shifted uncomfortably. Hikaru remembered a teacher telling him that Pavel was still learning Federation Standard, but as far as he could see all that Pavel was missing was the vocabulary. The grammar he had down, which was impressive considering how confusing it could get.

"I hate nightmares," Hikaru stated, walking around the couch. He hoped that it wouldn't seem like he talking down to Pavel. From what he could see he was a sensitive kid, but he was also very smart and seemed pretty nice when Hikaru could get him to talk.

"Da. Nightmare. I had a nightmare," Pavel confirmed, nodding once and shifting his attention back to the television. Hikaru shifted his eyes over to it as well when he sat down. The figures moved silently, pantomiming a drama that Hikaru didn't understand. "Do you know what is happening?" Pavel inquired. When Hikaru looked over at him in confusion, Pavel gestured at the television. "In the television show, do you know what is happening?"

"Ah, no. Sorry. I don't really watch soap operas," Hikaru said.

"Soap opera?" Pavel looked confused.

"It's a show that runs for a long time. It usually doesn't have a plot that all of the seasons follow. It just follows the lives of the characters and they can get in a lot of completely unrealistic situations," Hikaru explained, settling in as a Vulcan got into a shouting match with a human in clothes that looked like they came straight out of the 2100's. "See, a Vulcan yelling at someone. Unrealistic." Pavel snorted.

"Da. Unrealistic. We have these shows in Russia. I put the TV on silent and come up with my own words for what they are saying." Pavel smiled. "Sometimes my siblings or mother would do it, too. It was very funny."

"Want to try doing it in Standard?" Hikaru asked. "It could help you learn words you don't know. If there's something you don't know how to say, don't talk around it. Explain it to me and I'll help you find the right word," he offered. He didn't know what made him offer or how it would be received and breathed a sigh of relief when Pavel broke out into a wide smile.

"Da. Yes. That would be nice."

They stayed up straight through the night and both fell asleep in their early morning class. Because of scheduling issues, they moved Silent Soap Opera Night (as it came to be called) to Tuesday and bought a small television so they could watch in their room instead of the common room. As Pavel's Standard got better, it became less a learning experience and more a competition for who could come up with the most ridiculous lines that still made sense in context. The situation usually deteriorated quickly into senseless laughing and popcorn throwing.

"Yeah. We're reviving Tuesday Night Silent Soap Operas," Hikaru confirmed. From farther down the hall there came footsteps and McCoy came around the corner, holding a blue umbrella at his side.

"Why are ya'll sitting on the floor?" he asked. Hikaru and Pavel scrambled up and grinned simultaneously.

"Hikaru tripped over his own feet," Pavel chirped and dodged out of the way when Hikaru swung a hand at his head.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Hikaru heard the doctor sigh. McCoy grabbed Hikaru and Pavel by the back of their shirts and held them apart. "Play nice," he said loud enough for them both to hear, dropped their collars, and then walked off toward the elevator.

"Come on. Let's go rent a stupid soap opera," Pavel said.


	3. Curtailed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's called Curtailed 'cause it's short.

Chapter 3: Curtailed

Spock departed the meeting more perplexed than he was when he went in. The captain left in just as bad of a mood as he was earlier in the week, despite everyone's best efforts to alter his temperament. It was confusing… and a bit disheartening. Even in the face of an assignment he had been looking forward to for years on end, Spock's friend remained in as foul a mood as ever.

'Jim is irrational at the best of times, and this is hardly the best time for him,' Spock thought as he boarded the elevator at the end of the hall. The remembrance and rechristening ceremony had most of Spock's colleagues on edge, though from what the first officer could see, the cause of each of his friends' stress varied. Nyota's anxiety mostly came from pre-mission nerves and from her friends' stress. She had very little else to be concerned with and had always cared deeply for her friends' wellbeing.

If Sulu and Scotty were to be believed, then Lieutenant Chekov was in a relationship. If that were true then the reason he was on edge was due to the stress put on his Earth-bound relationships with friends and family by the impending mission. His youth would also play a part; he would be spending the entirety of his early twenties in a high-stress environment, away from most people his own age. Spock couldn't help the twinge of worry he felt for the young lieutenant, though he did his best to stamp it down. Chekov was a highly sympathetic boy as well; the increase in worry in everyone around him would affect him more than many others among the crew...

Not that the uneasy atmosphere wouldn't affect the others. Spock knew that to be untrue because he himself was feeling almost apprehensive. He knew that the others would feel the general atmosphere more strongly and it would therefore feed and feed off of their own negative emotions. Hikaru would probably be most affected by Pavel's mood in particular, and Pavel seemed to be feeling the doctor's fear and annoyance in addition to his other emotions. This was not a surprise to Spock; since about eight months prior the two had been increasingly close. Doctor McCoy had become borderline overprotective of the young lieutenant; as the elevator doors closed in front of him, Spock had to wonder whether it was because of the doctor's lack of contact with his own family. As far as Spock was aware, McCoy had not developed much of a social life outside of the command crew of the Enterprise and had limited contact with his ex-wife. Spock did not know of any other family members that the doctor may have and therefore concluded that any he did have he was not very close to.

The elevator began to descend. 'The captain and Doctor McCoy are friends, and the doctor has an almost obsessive need to care for anything broken. The captain has never been exactly whole, but is certainly not at this moment. McCoy is most likely more affected by the captain's agitation than anyone else in the crew,' Spock reflected. The captain. The sources of his stress were numerous. He had died the last time he was on a mission, after all. As Scotty had said earlier in the week, "That's bound to leave a bad taste in your mouth." The captain also had the hopes and expectations of Starfleet riding on his shoulders, and was being trusted with a newly rebuilt ship that had played a part in the death of not only dozens of crew members but also of thousands of civilians. The captain received death threats more often than bills in the mail, and was being held accountable – if unofficially – for those thousands of civilian deaths. Starfleet said that Kirk had acted admirably, especially since he had actually died in the line of duty.

When the story reached the media, though, Janus was their patron god. One week, the captain was another victim of Khan's attack and the next there were conspiracy theories about Jim Kirk instigating the whole thing and then covering it up with the help of corrupt officials. There was guilt and worry and apprehension and anger and fear in the captain and it was eating away at him. Spock had never liked metaphors, but this one seemed appropriate. If ever a man had been haunted by ghosts of the pasts, it was Jim. If left unchecked, they would devour him and all that would be left would be the empty shell of the man that had once been.

'And if all of that were not enough to cause concern…' Spock considered the exclusion certain facts in the meeting. Or rather, the odd exclusion of a single number. The command crew had covered everything that had needed to be discussed in that final meeting. Everything except one number that may have instigated the captain's horrible week-long temper to begin with.

The elevator dinged as it reached the first floor and instead of turning left toward the exit, Spock turned right and made his way through the maze of corridors that lead to the admirals' offices. He knocked on the door third from the end of the hall.

"Come in," a voice called. Spock opened the door.

"Admiral," Spock acknowledged.

"Commander."

"Admiral, I have a concern," the first officer said, and then allowed the door to swing shut behind him.


	4. Perturbed

Chapter 4: Perturbed

For Scotty, the day, the night, and the week before had been interesting.

Montgomery Scott knew that 'normal' was a relative term. Had the captain entered the meeting room the day before covered in confetti and glitter and then carried on as if it weren't there, covering every available surface in sparkles, Scotty would have considered that conference completely average. However, since the captain had entered and left fuming just like he had all week, Scotty decided to deem the recent past on Earth as 'unusual'. Of course, with such a big mission coming up he had only been spending about half of his time of Earth, but the time spent on the Enterprise turned out to be just as odd.

A month prior Jim had said to him, "Don't overdo it. The other Starfleet engineers know how to prep a ship for a mission, too. Let them do their job and then you can do yours once we board in a few weeks." Scotty had opted to take that as a suggestion instead of an order. And he was glad he had. The Enterprise's engineering decks held an interesting surprise.

In that: it held no interesting surprises.

There was nothing wrong with it. He had gone over every nook and cranny and bolt and nut and washer and pipe and tube that he could reach… He'd also gone over quite a few that he shouldn't have been able to reach, but managed to with the help of a ladder, a camera, and a disgruntled parrot that now knew significantly more curse words. He personally checked all of it and didn't find a single thing wrong. It was unnatural. Almost supernatural, except Scotty knew the occult didn't exist and even if it did, it would be far too terrified of his righteous retribution to put a single ectoplasm-y pseudopod on his ship.

Every day for the past week Scotty had gone up to the Enterprise and nothing was apparently wrong with it. Nothing to tweak. No levers or bolts to tighten or wiring to run. Nothing to realign after some clueless cadet screwed it up.

Not only was this interesting, it was unnerving. So, Scotty decided to head back up to the Enterprise the day before the mission. He knew he didn't need to and he knew he probably shouldn't and he knew that the engineers assigned to get the Enterprise flight ready were sick and tired of his meddling. So why was he still going to go up? Because on a certain level Scotty felt like he had to. He owed it to the crew and he owed it to Jim: no power failure this time.

Scotty woke up with his alarm – this was the first time that month he didn't wake up before it or sleep through it. He really hoped he did the same thing the next day when the shuttles with the rest of the crew were going up to the docking station. It really wouldn't do for the chief engineer to be late for that. He clambered out of bed and stumbled across the room to shut off his blaring alarm. Placing it on the wall opposite his bed was the only way for the alarm to actually work; if it just woke him up he would turn it off and fall straight back to sleep. As he punched the snooze button and opened up the drawer of his dresser that held all of his uniform shirts, something else caught the edges of his hearing. There was muffled cursing coming from the door to the living room.

Scotty bounded across the room, snatched up his phaser from the bedside table, and flung open the door that opened on to the bulk of his apartment. Stumbling through to the living room, dressed only in plaid boxers and a white t-shirt, Scotty discovered that the cursing did not come from a burglar caught in the act. Instead, it came from a cocoon of blankets on the couch.

"Aghh!" came another muffled shout. There was a resounding thump as the blanket wrapped figure dropped the two feet required to reach the hardwood floor. "Oof!" Scotty raised his eyebrows. He didn't remember letting anyone stay over at his apartment the night before, and he didn't have a headache or nausea, so he knew he didn't just forget because he'd been drunk. Then a shock of black hair peeked out over the edge of the quilt that was normally on the recliner across the room.

"Hikaru?" Scotty asked the struggling mass of bedding on the floor. He leaned over to turn on the light and saw the pilot stick his head out of the cocoon and squint at the glare.

"What the hell was that noise?" Hikaru asked, still trying to force the rest of himself out of the blankets. "That siren sounding thing?"

"That was my alarm. I can't wake up unless it's that loud," Scotty groused, leaning over to help untangle his friend. "And what are you doing here? I thought you were staying with Pavel after your lease ran out."

"Yeah, I was." Hikaru clambered up. "Until he kicked me out because he got mad at me. To be fair, it was partially my fault. But he's been so over sensitive lately I have no idea what's going to set him off!" he exclaimed, falling backwards back onto the couch. He glared at his foot which was still tangled in a crocheted, wool throw that was usually folded neatly in the basket under the coffee table. Hikaru shook it off, leaving the coverlet crumpled on the floor with the rest of the blankets he'd appropriated.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here until the mission if you two don't make up. But don't be too hard on him. We're all on edge right now," Scotty said, ambling toward the bathroom to grab a bathrobe. When he reentered the living room, Hikaru was still leaning against the back of the couch "Coffee?"

"No thanks, I generally avoid caffeine at…" Hikaru trailed off and blinked open his eyes, searching the room for a clock. With one hand Scotty pointed toward the television while scooping ground coffee into the coffee maker with the other. He heard Hikaru shift to see the clock perched next to the television. "Four twenty! Why are you having coffee at four twenty? What are you even doing awake at four twenty? What am I even doing awake at four twenty!" he exclaimed and slid sideways across the couch. "Augh… why? Why would you do this to me on my last day of freedom?"

"You know, some of us work for a living." Scotty pressed the 'Brew' button of the coffee maker and got out two mugs, just on a hunch. One said 'Don't bother me until this cup is empty' and the other had a cartoon of duct tape with the caption 'My Best Friend'. The captain had gotten Scotty both of them as part of a set of four custom mugs for his birthday. Despite the fact that it didn't seem like that significant of a gift, it was one of the most useful ones he had ever received and he fully intended to bring them with him on the mission.

"Yeah, but Jim said to take the day off. Oh man, I'm never going to get back to sleep," Hikaru grumbled. He rolled over so his face was in the couch cushions and his feet were up on the pillow he'd been using not five minutes before.

"It was a suggestion, not an order," Scotty said, parroting the justification he'd been rehearing for the past week. He spoke over a loud groan of disappointment that was emanating from the sofa. Over the sound of the brewing coffee, Scotty could barely hear the muttered words, 'Gonna kill 'im… up at four in morning… never gonna get back to sleep.' Scotty continued by saying, "So, I'm just going to go up and check over everything again. Just to be on the safe side." The coffee maker dinged and Hikaru cringed.

"At the meeting yesterday I thought you said there weren't any problems," the pilot protested. Resigned to his fate of total consciousness, Hikaru pulled himself up and lurched over to the thick half wall that separated the living room and the kitchen. When he first moved in, Scotty decided that (since there was no room for a dining table and he didn't want to eat at the coffee table all the time) he would just widen the top of the half-wall with a spare piece of wood, put some stools next to it, and treat it as a breakfast bar. Hikaru pulled himself up onto one of the stools and sat there, rubbing his eyes and face. When he held out his hand, Scotty was ready and handed him the 'Don't bother me' cup full of black coffee.

"Milk, sugar?" Scotty asked, moving toward the refrigerator.

"Sugar, please," Hikaru said through a grimace. Black coffee was evidently not to his taste. After Hikaru finished dumping about half of a sugar-bowl's worth of granules into his mug's murky depths, Scotty snagged the bowl and dropped the rest into his own cup. He leaned up against the breakfast bar/repurposed half wall and stirred his coffee, considering his answer.

"I know I said there's not a problem. And there's not. But… that's the problem, you see?" Scotty pointed out, taking a swig of coffee from the 'best friend' duct tape mug.

"No, I don't see. Come again?" Hikaru asked.

"There's NOT anything wrong with it… but that's what's wrong with it!" Scotty exclaimed, gesturing wildly and only just missing his friend's head with the hot cup of coffee.

"I'm not awake enough for this," Hikaru murmured. "Try it one more time, but this time explain so normal people can understand." Scotty scoffed and set down his cup, leaning against the makeshift table.

"Before every mission there are always bugs in the system." Scotty clenched his fist and continued, "Sometimes they're little tiny flies, other times they're huge tarantulas you just want to squish to death and burn the remains and then burn the ashes and throw them in a volcano. Big, hairy, ugly… you know, metaphorically speaking. But this time… there's not. Not one. I've checked everything. I've had other people check everything. And then I've triple checked what they've double checked and there's nothing wrong with it. The ship is perfect." Scotty exhaled and tried to relax his muscles. All he succeeded in doing was giving himself a twitch in his eye. He downed the rest of his coffee in one go.

"And this is bad because… why? It sounds like nothing but upsides to me," Hikaru said, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Murphy's Law, you daft beggar! Murphy's Law!" Scotty exclaimed, running his hands over his head and rubbing his forehead.

"Doesn't that say that anything that can happen, will happen?" Hikaru asked.

Scotty froze. Hikaru had no idea what it was that he had said that made Scotty pause mid freak-out, but he was glad he'd said it. It was too early to deal with… well, anything, really.

"Huh." The engineer dropped his arms to his sides. "It does say that, doesn't it? I always look at it the negative way, 'anything that can go wrong, will,' sort of thing, but-" Scotty cut himself off and stared at Hikaru. "In a way, it does say that anything can happen, doesn't it?"

"That's how I understood it," Hikaru stated and sipped some more of his sugary coffee. There was a long, drawn out pause where there was no sound but the dripping of the faucet. The handle for the hot water always stuck and when Scotty made coffee that early in the morning he often forgot to give it the extra yank to turn it all the way off. It would have been easy to fix, but after debating it for a few days Scotty had opted to leave it since it gave the apartment 'character'. As the silence was drawn out, Hikaru figured he'd silenced the engineer for at least as long as it would take to finish his coffee. Thanking whatever deity out there, the pilot took a deep breath and relaxed. Peace and quiet. That was the way to wake up.

SLAP! Scotty clapped his hands together and the noise bounced around the room.

"Well! That ship isn't going to check itself! Well, it will, but only if I make sure it can," Scotty said, putting his empty mug in the sink and walking around the half wall to his bedroom. He patted Hikaru on the back as the pilot put his head in his hands and resumed muttering about it being too early. Scotty dressed hurriedly, throwing on whatever was within reach and as such ended up with one black and one brown sock.

When he exited his room he found Hikaru up and washing both mugs, which only compounded the oddness of that week. After recovering from the shock of finding his friend fully human and not a sleep-addled zombie, Scotty gave him some final directions. "You can stay as long as you want, but when you leave put the spare key back where you found it," he instructed, snatching the silver key off the end table and tossing it to the pilot. Hikaru snatched it out of the air without looking up. "I'll be back by midnight and will be finishing up packing, so sorry in advance if I wake you. I've already cleaned out the fridge and the cupboards of everything other than the coffee, so if you want to eat here, you're going to have to order take-out. Good luck with Pavel, hope you two make up. And send him my apologies as well for the whole phone business. It was my idea. I was going to apologize myself, but he won't pick up the phone when I call and I don't know what hotel he's staying at. See you tonight!" And Scotty walked out the door.

It was twenty-two hours later by the time Scotty stumbled, bleary-eyed, into his apartment. There hadn't been anything wrong with the Enterprise and Scotty had checked and double checked and triple checked everything as many times over as possible. And the other engineers had agreed with him; it was unnatural how well everything had gone. A few had even stayed up as late as he did (about 2:30 AM) running diagnostics and simulations, trying to find a flaw. Finally, they'd had to call it a night and Scotty had returned to Earth, almost depressed at the lack of things to fix.

The blankets were all folded and back where they were supposed to be and the coffee mugs from that morning were in the proper cupboard. On the kitchen counter was a note in horrible hand writing: Made up with Pavel. He forgives you, too. There's Mexican take-out in the fridge in case you want it.

Scotty smiled. He warmed up the food and sat on one of the stools at the half-wall-breakfast-bar, falling asleep about halfway through his meal and without setting his alarm for later that morning.


	5. Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> This one is a shorter chapter, but the next one is really long.

Chapter 5: Restraint

It was the day. The day the crew of the Enterprise was finally going to board their ship and leave on the most daring mission ever recorded in Starfleet history. Well, the longest, at least. As McCoy headed toward the departure point for boarding, he knew the look on his face was one to scare even the most determined Ensign in to running for cover.

It wasn't that McCoy was afraid of spending five years in a confined space with his friends. That was no problem. It might even be amusing as some point. What scared him was spending five years straight with his friends in a tin can of death floating far away from any breathable atmosphere or help, should it be required. And based on the Enterprise's track record, it would be. It was a five year mission – not that McCoy was obsessing over the amount of time he would be trapped in the deep, dark vacuum that makes one all too aware of the mortality of man. No, of course he wasn't obsessing over that. McCoy was just concerned with the amount of time they were going to be spending on the mission; people were going to get hurt and it was almost guaranteed that not everyone would make it back alive. That was the most frustrating and terrifying thing about this assignment. Not everyone who ended up in his med bay was going home. Even if he did all he could, some wouldn't make it; he knew that. He would still do his damnedest to save them, but... whenever he thought about what this mission would be like, a hard, cold rock settled in his diaphragm. (It wasn't in his stomach. It was in his diaphragm. There's a difference.)

Before he left Starfleet headquarters that morning he had been called to an Admiral's office - the same office Jim had left in a very bad mood the week before. No matter how many jokes Scotty had made about being called to the principal's office or how many time Spock stated that excessive worry was illogical, the hard look would not left Jim's face. He ignored the entire bridge crew's attempts to cheer him up. McCoy was the one who got to talk to him after everyone else had already tried, and after every trick in the book had already been pulled.

Spock used logic, Uhura sisterly concern, Sulu tough love, Chekov dusted off his infamous puppy eyes, and Scotty had tried getting Jim so blind drunk that he would talk about anything. The last one might have worked, but unfortunately neither Jim nor Scotty remembered anything past seven in the evening. So then it came down to McCoy. His attempt involved professional concern. Jim's crap mod was ruining bridge crew morale; it would make perfect sense that his friend and CMO would approach him, which he did at the meeting two days earlier. Things did not go as planned and they had ended up in a shouting match, not seeing each other since.

Being called to see the same Admiral that had started all this seemed like a blessing and a curse. A curse because he was probably going to have to face the same or a very similar talk. A blessing because now he could finally find a way to get Jim out of his week-long funk.

It was early, about seven, and despite the fact that today was the commencement of the longest mission in Starfleet history (again, no way was McCoy obsessing about how long he'd be out there, trapped in space) the halls were quiet. The cold sunlight streamed in through high windows, and McCoy's shadow walked beside him as he approached the Admiral's door.

This Admiral was pretty average as far as Starfleet went. He hadn't been there so long that people were sure he was immortal, but he wasn't so new that no one would acknowledge his advancement. He was just sort of there. And so McCoy had not gone to the troubled of learning his name for any period of time longer than the average conversation.

McCoy knocked on the door to Admiral What's-his-face's office – third from the end of the hall – and was immediately asked to enter. The usual pleasantries followed. Salute, walk to the desk, and then shake hands over it. McCoy was then asked to sit down, offered coffee, refused the coffee, was offered coffee again, accepted the coffee, found the coffee had far too much sugar and milk in it, and set it down on the edge of Admiral What's-his-name's desk. 'What do people have against nice black coffee anyway?' McCoy thought. Honestly, it was the only thing strong enough to wake him up in the morning. The Admiral and McCoy then spent the next five minutes discussing horses and the farm on the outskirts of Atlanta McCoy had owned before his divorce. McCoy sat, back straight and shoulders square, knowing this was not what he was brought in for. And, given the idle chatter he was being forced through, McCoy knew this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. Finally the Admiral got to the point.

"I supposed you're wondering why I brought you here today," the Admiral began.

"Well, I know I wasn't invited here for my conversation," McCoy said, relaxing in his seat just enough so that he was comfortable. He picked up his cup of coffee, now luke-warm sugary sludge, and sipped. Feigning a casual air when completely pissed off was not one of his natural talents, but it was a skill he had picked up over years of dealing with James Tiberius Kirk.

"Alright, I'll get straight to the point," Admiral What's-his-face sighed. 'About time!' McCoy thought and settled in for what he was sure was going to be a very long, very boring lecture that he already knew ninety percent of. His only concern was what lecture could possibly have gotten Jim into as bad of a mood as he'd been in. "I brought you here to talk about the acceptable losses on this mission."

McCoy froze.

'Ah. So that's it,' was the vague, half-formed thought that swam behind his eyes. He could feel every muscle in his body slowly began to tense as a heavy silence sat on the desk between him and the Admiral. He tried to inhale and clear his head, but the cold air that rushed into his lungs did nothing ot help.

"I, uh," McCoy coughed, the breath catching on something in his throat. "I guess I should have expected this."

Should have. But didn't.

"Captain Kirk should have discussed this with the bridge crew at the final Earth-bound meeting, but Commander Spock informed us that no acceptable loss number was given to the crew."

'Of course the pointy-eared hobgoblin had that in mind,' McCoy thought. 'Always so damned prepared.'

"While we were not surprised that Captain Kirk would find it difficult to inform his commanding officers of this, we were very surprised that he had forgone mentioning it all together. We were especially surprised when Commander Spock mentioned that there was no evidence Captain Kirk had given you, in particular, this information. As Chief Medical Officer, the number of acceptable losses for a mission is something you should be informed of." The Admiral appeared to be waiting for a response, but McCoy did not give one. His lips were pressed into a flat line and they were being held there only because he did not want to open his mouth, say what he was thinking, and lose his job. The Admiral cleared his throat and continued, "This is a five year mission. The crew is massive. The ship has been rebuilt. The space the Enterprise will be exploring has never been mapped before. You will run into problems on all fronts – hostile peoples or planets, dissention, even technical problems or a malfunction of the ship's systems. People will get hurt. People will die."

As the Admiral whose name McCoy would never remember rattled off all of the worries that had been chased around in the doctor's head, McCoy felt his face slowly slacken. This was real, now. Real and solid and just a few hours away from happening. When the Admiral finished, he tightened his jaw and steeled himself, looking straight at McCoy. Again, the doctor did not respond. Giving in to his exasperation, the Admiral huffed and fell backwards into his chair.

"Look, I know you don't want to have this conversation. I know the idea is sickening to you. You are dedicated to your crew and if sheer force of will could save a life, not a single person who came under your care would die. If we could bottle that up and make it a miracle cure I'd be ecstatic. But we can't. Not realistically. So we are going to have to talk about this." The Admiral rubbed a hand over his face and eyed the CMO across the desk. Clean shaven, clean uniform, washed and brushed hair. A superficial observer would say that McCoy looked like an exemplary Starfleet officer. A closer observation – nicked cheek without a bandage from shaving too fast, darker circles under his eyes, and a face with the gaunt appearance of someone who simply forgot about regular meals – revealed that this was a man who was tired. Tired and anxious about something he would not be able to change.

To McCoy, the room felt too bright. Everything was white and the early morning sunlight was bouncing off the walls, the shelves, the desk. The light felt too cool, impersonal. There was no warmth in it or comfort. McCoy knew he would never be able to escape this conversation, however much he wanted to. So, breathing for the first time in what felt like an eternity, McCoy shifted to the edge or his chair and nodded once. The Admiral launched into an explanation: what sort of equations they had used to find this number, what it meant, what policies should be executed so this number would not be exceeded. McCoy knew what sort of policy should be implemented – save everyone you can and never give up on those you think you can't. So, he let his mind drift, only paying enough attention to parrot back key phrases and ideas that the Admiralty would want him to remember. There was only one that stood out, though.

68\. That was the number of acceptable losses for a five year exploratory mission.

There were disclaimers – 'This is just an estimate' and 'Don't feel too bad if the actual number goes over since we don't quite know what to expect' – but all McCoy could hear was that number. 68 people. That's 68 people who would go up and never come back. 68 people who would hold their loved ones for the last time that day. 68 people who would stand in sight the sun they were born under for the last time. The sun that had risen on the day they found out there would be five years in which they would never see it. 68 people who would never see their yellow sun, their homes, their families, or their friends again. 68 families torn, 68 people who lost their best friend.

There might even be 68 pets who wait at the door for a master that would never walk through it again.

And that was supposed to be considered acceptable.


	6. Commission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I said this chapter would be long? Well, it got a bit out of hand and is now two chapters. Here is part one.

Chapter 6: Commission

When the Admiral finished his lecture McCoy left the room in a daze. He did all of his remaining paperwork, said goodbye to a few friends from Academy days who wouldn't be coming with them, and then looked at the clock. It was almost noon and the shuttles left at one. He shuffled toward the front of headquarters where a few small transport ships were ferrying people to the launch. All of his things were already in his quarters aboard the Enterprise. The only objects he still needed to bring on board were a worn Polaroid photograph that had taken up permanent residence in his pants pocket, his wallet and ID card, and two small presents for Nyota since her birthday was today and they wouldn't be able to celebrate it.

She had said that she didn't want anything, but he had bought both of his gifts ages ago. There was a small pearl hairpin he had purchased on a beach trip; he remembered her mentioning in passing a weakness for pearl earrings. He hoped it carried over to other accessories as well. The pin was acting as a bookmark in a pocket-sized guide to discerning differences in accents of English. Despite having an incredible ear, after learning English she had never given much thought to the technical differences between accents, relying on the innate knowledge of a native speaker. The book was filled with technical terms he didn't understand and symbols that made no sense, but the heading "Atlanta" had been clear enough, so that's the page he put the hair pin on.

McCoy boarded the shuttle, half full of other Starfleet officers. Most of them wore grey and carried Pads or antiquated clipboards that they kept shuffling around, flipping through pages of information. When one young cadet in red – she couldn't have been more than nineteen and had the biggest eyes he'd ever seen on a human – actually got up and shifted a seat or two away from him, he realized his expression must be murderous. The doctor tried to relax his features, tried to smile, but it didn't work. In fact, it came out as more of an angry grimace. When people started to avert their gazes and avoid eye contact, he realized he was fighting a losing battle and gave in to his neutral scowl.

When they landed at the shipyard from which the shuttles would be departing, the rest of the passengers on the transport almost leapt out of the cabin, ignoring all safe exit protocol. One familiar looking ensign who had been cowering in the back dropped a wrinkled bunch of papers in his haste to leave. McCoy had seen him in the farthest row, clenching and unclenching his hands around the bundle, fidgeting and pulling on the hem of his red shirt. The doctor picked up a few sheets and handed it to the startled ensign who dashed out.

When McCoy saw the kid's face it suddenly occurred to him why this particular ensign looked familiar. Before leaving Earth, the officers of the Enterprise were required to review the files of the entire crew. Usually it was just the captain that did this and Jim had wanted to do it alone, but he hadn't wanted to review the several hundred files on the finalized roster in three days. Because that's how long Starfleet had given him to do it. Jim had decided to delegate the list among the bridge crew; McCoy had gotten 'K' through 'O'. Other than that, he only knew that Jim had given himself 'U' through 'Z', probably because that had the lowest concentration of crew members. Given Jim's list of allergies, McCoy has actually considered putting 'Recommended for Medical Observation' on 'Kirk, James T.'s file… But had opted against it because he would rather return to Earth in one piece. The terrified little red-shirted ensign was Lowen, Marcus J. He was in engineering, a transporter specialist, and allergic to bee stings.

McCoy stood just outside the shuttle doors as they closed, looking around for someone he knew beyond 'Marcus J. Lowen'. Sending off the Enterprise, star of the fleet, on a five year mission to unexplored space was a big deal. That was a given. It was also a given that the general populace, the families of some of the crew members, and some of the media would want to be there for it. However, allowing all of those people to come up to the station the Enterprise was docked at would be logistically impossible. The final decision was to send off the crew in style. There was a large shipyard just outside of San Francisco that was large enough for two different starships to be in production at the same time. Starfleet had thought it would be large enough. Turns out, it wasn't. This was the shipyard where the Enterprise had been repaired. It had been sitting there until a few weeks prior, when it had been taken out for a test flight. Those few weeks were not enough to repurpose the yard for anything other than what turned out to be the largest party Starfleet had ever seen. Outside the gates were dozens of news vans with huge cameras on cranes. Photographers lined the fences, pointing their cameras everywhere. They took pictures of shuttles arriving with crew members, of the crew and their families bidding each other goodbye. They even took pictures of the hundred shuttles that would take the crew up, lining the far edge of the yard in two rows of fifty.

It was certainly an impressive sight, but even from a hundred feet away he could hear the chaos. It only grew louder as he approached the gate where officers in grey were checking ID cards and tickets. There was a list of approved attendees and all those not on the list were forced to stand outside with the news crews and photographers. When he was let through and walked into the crowd he had to fight the urge to clap his hands over his ears and close his eyes. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a shrill whistle cut through the noise, but the shouting of the crowd tackled the sound before he could pick the direction it came from. The noise, the colors – his own blue shirt seemed comparatively dull. The red, gold, and blue uniforms were bright enough, but the endless variety of colors worn by the people who weren't in the crew made it look like a mythological animal had taken an unhealthy mix of narcotics and candy and then threw up all over the crowd.

The air vibrated with it all, the sights and sounds of people and the smells of a hundred different kinds of aftershave, deodorant, and perfume. Not to mention sweat. It was all so overwhelming that McCoy had to stumble to the side of the crowd over by the fence. There was a small bubble of inactivity and he relished in it for a few moments before the shifting crowd swallowed him again in a monstrous wave of excitement. There was no way around it, he decided. 'I'll just force my way through.' He pushed back his shoulders, straightened his spine, and let the full force of his emotions reign his expression. Very little elbowing turned out to be required as people scrambled to get out of the way of the CMO. Returning crew members snagged their friends and family and pulled them out of his path before he got within five feet of them. Not knowing which way to check first for the Captain, he just ended up walking around with no goal in mind, even though he made sure to look as if he had someplace very important to be that very second. Then he spotted a high, slicked back ponytail over a red dress flash away into the crowd. He knew that three thousand would be a low estimate for the number of people in that crowd, but he also knew his friends and that the ponytail and dress belonged to Nyota.

McCoy shifted the wrapped present he had almost forgotten about and began to do the little shouldering required to make his way through the crowd. He took special care to hold the small package to his chest to avoid bumping it on a stray arm or shoulder. He didn't know how much pressure the pearl on the end of the makeshift bookmark/hairpin could take before it snapped off. After struggling for a few seconds he realized he'd reached a point where the crowd was so dense that people could barely shift a few inches in any direction. The ponytail disappeared into the sea of people and no amount of craning his neck would let McCoy find it again.

"Aw, hell," he muttered and forced his way backwards past a glaring mother holding a small child. He ignored her – there was no way he would see anyone here within five years anyway, so what did it matter? – and changed trajectory. Just peeking out over the top of the crowd was a platform with a few people perched on it, all looking around for someone just like he was. After forcing his way through the few rows of people he needed to reach it he joined them, pulling himself up one-handed and looking for Nyota. There were people everywhere. Every square inch inside the fence was occupied. The edges flowed, but the middle was so packed people it only seemed to sway side to side at a snail's pace.

As McCoy looked out on the crowd, the cacophony of noise faded and even amongst all the bright colors, the red, gold, and blue uniforms stood out. He felt his knees go weak as those beacons of color loomed out of the crowd. Each one was a life that might be lost. Some were lives that would be lost. The excitement of the crowd took on a different meaning to him in that moment. It morphed in to nervous energy with happiness forced to the surface of smiling faces. The bright colors were too saturated, too garish to be happy. It was all superficial. Some of the families there were bidding goodbye to one of their own that would never return.

McCoy's stomach turned over as the sound of the scene rushed back and the colors dimmed. He felt his heart try to slam out of his chest and was shocked that no one else could hear it. But then he spotted Nyota standing next to Spock and the hyper-reality faded almost back to normal. The Vulcan towered over the crowd and it suddenly occurred to McCoy that he should have been looking for Spock the entire time. It took about nine minutes of elbowing his way through the crush of people, but he finally stood, panting, in front of the two of them. Spock merely raised an eyebrow, but Nyota actually laughed at him.

"You look exhausted! Did you stay up late last night checking over the new recruit's medical files?" Nyota took the half step forward needed to give him a hug, regardless of the fact that the final Earthbound meeting of the bridge crew had been only two days ago. Then again, it was her birthday and emotions were running high anyway, so why shouldn't she be in a 'huggy' mood? "Really though, you look awful," she confirmed, giving him a searching glance as she stepped back from the hug.

"Thanks. I really appreciate the complement," McCoy grumbled. More often than not, sarcasm could provide a more accurate response than a 'real' answer could. Plus, he didn't want to admit that he had been checking over medical files, but had only gotten up to 'Bahn, Janice K.' before he fell asleep in his chair. "Happy birthday, anyway." He held out his present. It was wrapped in navy paper dotted with big, yellow cartoon stars. "I thought the paper was appropriate, considering," he said, forcing a smile. The nervous energy pulsing off the crowd was starting to get to him, having not faded as completely as McCoy had thought. The colors had dulled, but he could still feel them scratching at his skin and throat. He fidgeted and pulled on his sleeves. When he realized what he was doing he also realized exactly how badly he needed to find Jim. Nyota didn't seem to notice as she beamed down at the gift and then looked back up at McCoy.

"Oh, Leonard, that's so sweet of you. But, I said-" she cut herself off, her eyes flickering to someplace over his shoulder. "I- I said you didn't have to get me anything. Uh," she came back to herself and smiled at him again, "but thank you. That really is nice." Beside her, Spock shifted and fixed his eyes on the same place Nyota had seconds before.

"What?" McCoy asked, glancing over his shoulder. It didn't look like there was anything special going on. There was just more people. "What are you looking at?"

"There was a young woman about thirty feet behind you who was very similar in appearance to… She walked back into the crowd when she observed us looking at her," Spock stated, not quite looking at him. If McCoy was a betting person, which he was, he would say that Spock was still watching the top of this young woman's head in the crowd.

"Similar to what? You said she had a similar appearance to something and never finished the sentence," McCoy griped.

"Similar to you," Nyota said sharply.

Similar to him? A young woman who looks similar to him? He felt his heart drop to his knees and jump up to his throat at the same time. He whirled around and began to seek for Joey's mass of curly hair in the crowd. There was no way Joanna could be there. She said she had exams. Then again, if she really wanted to come to the Enterprise's send-off she could manage it. One time in grade school she had managed to convince a substitute teacher that her class was supposed to watch old movies as a part of their history lesson. She had the Music Man playing on loop for four and a half hours before any of the other teachers found out about it. If anyone could convince a professor to let a student skip exams, it would be her. He had double checked that Joey's ID number was included on the list of approved attendees just so she wouldn't be hindered if she made any last minute travel arrangements, but he hadn't heard anything from her except for a curt "Good luck" message on his phone that morning.

"She was in a blue uniform and everything!" McCoy felt his body relax and his heart fall back into place. Joey wasn't in Starfleet. She would have told him if she'd applied. But then again, if she had decided to enlist, he would have made sure she was put on desk duty for the entirety of her career. It wouldn't be that self serving if he did. His daughter technically speaking would not meet the medical requirements for active duty unless she got someone to make a pretty hefty exception to a few rules.

"Huh," he said. He felt oddly relieved and let down at the same time. He turned back to face his friends and just decided to cut to the chase, "Do either of you know where Jim is? I need to talk to him. Now."

"Are you well, Doctor?" Spock asked abruptly. "It's only that you seem distracted."

"Yeah, well, I have a couple of thing on my plate right now." Like a daughter that apparently didn't care if he lived or died. "Do you guys know where that damn Captain is or not?"

"You have the same look on your face that Jim's had for the past week. Leonard, please, tell us what's wrong!" Nyota still clutched her present to her chest but reached out with her other hand to grab his arm. When he didn't answer, she sighed in defeat, "I saw him near the far end of the yard. By shuttle number one. Can you tell us what's wrong now?"

McCoy froze in the act of turning away, looked to Spock and said, "You tell her," before walking off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for right now! I'm sorry if the story is progressing kind of slowly for some people. It's just my style. I'm a lot more long winded than I thought I was when I started.
> 
> Quite frankly, this was supposed to be a ~4,000 word one-shot. And then it turned into a three-parter. And then it just kind of morphed into the behemoth of a plot that now fills a notebook and a half (to be fair, my handwriting is awful and way too large, so that's like 75% of a notebook for anyone else).
> 
> Additionally, I'm sorry to say that we're nearing the end of my buffer chapters. Apologies. It's entirely my fault since I'm impatient and can't stick to a schedule. Anyway, chapter updates will be slowing down since as far as my typing and editing are concerned, uh... *Baymax voice* I am not fast.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Consternation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember me saying the last chapter got out of hand? Well, it got more out of hand and this is now part 2 of 3. Also, please forgive the grammar mistakes and typos in the last chapter. And the ones that are probably in this one. I swear I proofread... just not very well, apparently.

McCoy froze in the act of turning away, looked to Spock and said, "You tell her," before walking off.

As McCoy slid his way through the crowd toward the shuttles, he could still hear the discussion behind him.

"Tell me what?" Nyota demanded. Her voice was clear and carried over the noise of the crowd, which was no surprise to the doctor. What did surprise him was that he could hear Spock's monotone response.

"I made an inquiry to Starfleet about a topic that the captain failed to discuss during our final meeting. The issue involved our doctor and I must assume that this is what he is referring to. If you wish to discuss this further, I would suggest we go somewhere more private."

The conversation faded into the white noise as McCoy once again made his way across the packed shipyard. When he reached the barrier between the vast majority of the crowd and the launch site for the shuttles, he forked over his ID for the few seconds required to verify his identity and then pushed his way to the open area on the other side. Security was tight. Because the high-profile nature of the mission and the residual anger over the Enterprise's involvement in the destruction of San Francisco a year prior, a lot of eyes were on the Federation and Starfleet. It was all anyone could hope that the extra precautions and the plain-clothes security officers would be able to stymie any threats. Three weeks prior an uninvolved Starfleet cadet had been attacked by a mother who lost her child because of Khan. She couldn't attack the enhanced human, so she went for the next best thing: Starfleet. A lot of the people who lost friends and family because of the crash were willing to do horrible things to innocent people just to redirect their grief. 'Then again,' McCoy thought, 'the only real innocents here are the families and new recruits. The rest of us…' He refused to finish the thought. It brought up too many bad memories. He focused on finding Jim.

It was harder than he would have expected. Despite the crowd being concentrated on the far side of the barrier, some of the crew –those whose family couldn't attend the send-off – had made their way to the shuttles, milling around in the general area of the one they had been assigned. There was one stationary figure, though, leaning against the farthest shuttle to the right, shuttle one.

Kirk stood there, staring blankly at the Pad in his hands with his back to McCoy. The doctor slowed down to an ambling, casual pace, deliberately crunching the gravel beneath his boots to announce his approach. He stopped about ten feet off, letting his friend make the first move. It was several minutes before he broke the silence.

"They told you? About…" Kirk still stared at the Pad and did not turn around. With his right hand he waved vaguely at the air to his side and continued, "About the number?"

"Sixty-eight," McCoy intoned. Jim flinched.

"Yeah, sixty-eight. Sixty-eight bodies that Starfleet is just a-okay with dumping into some lonely, unexplored corner of space. God, I hate this job sometimes!" the captain exclaimed. Jim gave a mirthless bark of laughter and turned to face McCoy. Jim normally had really blue eyes. McCoy had heard a few of his nurses giggling about it more than once. Now that the whites of his eyes were red from crying, the irises were a bright, electric blue. His gaze was piercing, intense… and a little bit scary. "You know what I'm going to say to you, right? What I want to say to them? Hell, you're thinking it, too, huh?" the captain demanded. The doctor could only gape at his friend and struggle to find something, anything to say to him. For a few seconds he floundered, grasping a words and syllables, trying to string together a comprehensible sentence before finally…

"Every loss is unacceptable," he murmured. They were the only words McCoy could think of, the only ones that didn't get stuck in his throat, but they had an immediate effect. The lines that had lived on Jim's face for the past week relaxed. It was remarkable how quickly the change happened. McCoy had a sudden realization as he took stock of himself as well; his deep scowl was gone. Refusing aloud to adhere to the idea of "acceptable losses" seemed to have hardened his resolve.

There was no longer a knot of uncertainty in his stomach; there were no more tumultuous upheavals of order in his mind. He knew there would be casualties. But he knew that he was not alone in fighting against that. And somehow that made it seem just a little more bearable. The first real smile in a week cracked Jim's face and the nervous energy that had plagued McCoy since that morning began to dissipate. Before the mood could get too jovial, McCoy knew he had to be the responsible one to ground them in reality for just a little while longer.

"We're going to have to tell them, you know," he stated. "At least Spock. Maybe Nyota and Scotty. Probably Hikaru."

"Yeah," Jim smirked, "But we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"Glad you're back," McCoy said, clapping a hand on Jim's shoulder. So what if it was cliché? He could be sappy if he wanted to be! Besides. He liked that malaphor.

"C'mon, Bones! Time to go give an inspiring speech to the adoring public!"Jim slapped his friend's back hard enough that McCoy staggered a little, the toes of his shoes digging into the ashy gravel and knocking the air out him. When he found his feet again he also found Jim frozen beside him. Following his line of sight, McCoy spotted a gold shirted kid with curly hair and slight figure ducking behind shuttle number six. McCoy tensed, ready to spring after Pavel. He wouldn't let that twenty year old kid carry around the number sixty-eight in the back of his head without doing something to help.

"No, hold on. You don't have to run. Look," Jim said, sticking a hand out in front of McCoy. 'Hell to that!' the doctor thought and charged forward. Kirk dashed around in front of him and exclaimed, "Really! You don't need to run." It was then that the doctor spotted the Starfleet standard black shoes and uniform slacks peeking out beneath bottom of the shuttle. After a moment's hesitation, the doctor started forward again, this time at a sedate pace. The captain approached shuttle six next to him, with a look on his face that said he wanted to be anywhere else. When they reached the far edge, they found Pavel leaning with his back against the metal siding. He stood beneath the painted number '6' and peered at the two of them with wide eyes below a fringe of curls. He had a baby face and would probably always look young for his age. McCoy had always seemed to think of Pavel as younger than he really was because of it. Younger than McCoy's own daughter, in fact, even if Pavel was really a few months older. Of course, part of that might be because McCoy didn't want to acknowledge that Joanna was that old, too. Not seeing her face to face for four years made denial easier. Jim cleared his throat.

"Kid, did you-"

"I heard." Pavel stared hard at the ground in front their shoes.

Oh.

Well, then.

"Sixty-eight?" Pavel's eyes flickered between the two of them, the ground, and the shifting crowd in the distance. An admiral was giving a speech and the miasma of excitement from the massive audience reached them even as far away as they were. McCoy recognized the look in the kid's eyes; it was probably the same look that McCoy had gotten when he had stood on that platform and looked out at the families and crew. Pavel could feel the how superficial the happiness was. He could tell that this wasn't a celebration.

"Just because that's the number of so-called 'acceptable losses' doesn't mean that what we're shooting for-" Jim cut himself off. "Sorry. Poor choice of words. But the point is, our goal is to keep as many people alive for as long as possible. And that's the captain and CMO's goal, so that's what's going to happen." Pavel nodded mutely. But then his brow furrowed a bit and he looked up at McCoy with an accusing glare.

"Why weren't you going to tell me?" That floored McCoy. Pavel had been so jumpy and unpredictable lately, though…

"What?" the doctor asked.

"Why weren't you going to tell me? About the acceptable losses number? We've gotten them for every other mission and you told everyone in the command crew, including me. You said you'd tell everyone else but me this time, though. Why?" Pavel demanded, stepping forward and standing straight. McCoy gapped for a few moments and then tried to find his words again. 'Now, how did both of these kids manage to make me speechless in less than three minutes?' McCoy had to wonder.

"We were going to tell you. Uh, just not… not right away. To be perfectly honest, I was going to outsource it to Hikaru. I figured he would have a more tactful way of letting you know about such a… such a depressing subject," McCoy said. He was glad that even though his lying was a bit rusty he was still able to come up with that on such short notice. It was just a little fib. How much harm could it do? "I just didn't want to upset you unnecessarily. I don't know what Jim's story is." McCoy smirked at the captain, but all his friend did was glare at him. Pavel still seemed suspicious, but after a second his expression changed and McCoy hoped that he'd bought it.

"Speaking of Hikaru, where is he? I haven't seen him or Scotty," Jim asked. He glanced around, as if expecting them to just jump out from behind a shuttle at any moment.

"No idea. I haven't run into them," McCoy said, stepping backward to avoid Pavel's flailing arms. Jim had grabbed the poor kid when he let his guard down and had him in a headlock.

"Sorry, Doctor!" Pavel exclaimed, struggling to escape the captain's grip.

"No trouble," McCoy replied, sliding past a misplaced kick.

"Hikaru-" Pavel tried to jab his elbow into Jim's stomach and when he missed all the captain did was laugh over Pavel's gasping. "Hikaru said something about saying goodbye to his grandmother and cousin and then going to wait by the side of the stage."

"Stage? What stage?" McCoy asked, thinking about that tiny raised platform in the middle of the crowd. The captain replied since Pavel's face was busy turning a remarkable shade of red.

"It was on the left side of the yard walking in from the drop-off point. Starfleet set it up so a couple of the higher ups and I could give speeches. Sounds like that's happening right – Oof!" Jim grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as Pavel finally managed to land a hit and escape.

"Ha! I got you!" he shouted. The exclamation was followed by a muttered a strand of curse words in Russian. "Come on, let's go and find the others!" he continued, in a much better mood than before. Jim walked forward with a perplexed grin half-formed on his face.

"That hurt, Pavel… you been working out, kid?" Jim asked, leading the way back to the makeshift barrier. McCoy could see Pavel's shoulders slump and for a moment it didn't seem he would reply.

"Please, stop calling me a kid. I've been twenty for a while now, a legal adult for longer than that, and I've been in Starfleet for even more time than either of those," Pavel kept his voice low as they approached the gates. "I know you treat me like an adult when I'm doing my job, but just once it would be nice if you gave me a bit of respect when we're not working. I've been fighting battles larger than myself for just as long as you have. I've seen the same things. I'm young, but I'm not a child. Not anymore." Pavel stopped speaking abruptly and almost appeared regretful. McCoy didn't know whether it was because of what Pavel said or what it meant or that he had said it out loud, but McCoy didn't like the look on his face. It was too troubled for someone so young, 'not a child' be damned. Jim stopped walking. McCoy halted, too, and it took a second before the young man in gold before them caught on and paused.

"What is it?" Pavel asked, turning towards them from a few feet away. McCoy glanced back at the captain and found him studying the navigator; his head was tilted and his forehead was wrinkled in confusion. It was like this was his first time seeing the young lieutenant. McCoy turned back to Pavel. Then he saw what had made Jim stop.

Pavel had grown up. Yes, he still had the baby face and probably always would, and that was what McCoy always saw when he looked at him. But Pavel was just a little bit taller; a final growth spurt a few months before had put the top of his head above Kirk's. His shoulders were a bit broader, wiry frame filled in with a bit of extra muscle. His face had filled out, too. His jaw was more defined than three years before and the baby fat had melted away. He still had wide eyes, but there was something more in them. More knowledge, more wisdom. And a shadow…

"Well, Jim," McCoy coughed and continued, "It seems you've lost your right to call Chekov a kid."

"Wait, hold up! What about you?" Kirk protested.

"The doctor can call me a kid if he wants." Pavel's eyes got the mischievous glint that came about with overexposure to James T. Kirk. "But you can't, captain." Jim gasped in mock shock.

"You wound me, Chekov! Right here!" The captain pointed to the left side of his chest. "My poor little baby navigator is all grown up! What will become of me?"

"Your heart is in the center of your chest, you twat. It's just tilted to the left," McCoy snapped, striding past the captain who seemed perfectly happy to just ham it up in plain view of all of the people he would need to command over the next five years. The doctor presented his ID to the guard and forced his way back through the turnstile. Jim, still complaining at the top of his lungs about the injustice of it all, followed Pavel whose face was getting to be the same shade it was when Jim had him in a headlock. McCoy, pretending he was in no way associated with the loud moron behind him, turned to the right and began the onerous task of edging toward the fence.


	8. Diatribe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back and HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here is the third part of what was supposed to be a single chapter.

Chapter 8: Diatribe

By the time he had slid all the way to the side of the yard with the stage, he was feeling claustrophobic again and was far too overwhelmed to do anything about it other than keep pushing forward. Behind him, Jim and Pavel were also looking a little green around the gills and had fallen behind a few feet. Desperate for an end or a goal to work towards, McCoy stared down the length of the fence and had to grin when he caught sight of a black-haired figure in a gold shirt loitering by the corner of the stage. As McCoy started to fight his way toward him, the doctor saw Nyota and Spock join Hikaru at the edge of the crowd. They were all shaking hands with men and women in grey uniforms, one of whom was just stepping down from the stand. McCoy had just started to wonder if it was Jim's turn to give a speech when a familiar voice to his left caught his ear.

"Doctor!" McCoy felt a punch to the gut at the sound; 'Not him! Please, I just got Jim in a better mood, please not him,' he prayed. But he didn't need to turn around to tell that the captain had frozen a few feet away, and that could mean only one thing. "Ah, Captain Kirk! I was just going to ask Doctor McCoy here if he knew where you were. Now I see there's no need." The Admiral whose name McCoy couldn't remember pushed through the crowd. McCoy knew that technically it wasn't that Admiral's fault they had to get an acceptable losses number and that technically it wasn't that Admiral's fault the number was so high this time around… but that didn't stop the doctor from disliking him anyway. The Admiral paused, gaze sliding over McCoy and Chekov and giving them an indulgent smile before turning back to the captain.

'No… I don't dislike you,' McCoy thought, 'I think I hate you. Smug little-'

"Could we have a word in private, please?" the Admiral asked Jim, employing the kind of simper one uses when talking to a toddler. Specifically, an unintelligent toddler who had just decided that the next big thing in food should totally be edible appliances… like electrical outlets.

'Yep. Definitely hate you.'

"I really don't see that we have anything left to discuss, Admiral. But, if you must talk to me you can do it now. I'd appreciate it if you kept it brief; I have to give a speech soon." Kirk's tone was colder than ice and about as harsh as McCoy had ever heard from him. 'There's something more than just resentment in that tone… Jim what's gotten into you?' McCoy wondered, gaze flickering between the two of them.

"Look, I know you're still angry about how I spoke to you the other day-"

Jim snorted. McCoy raised an eyebrow at his friend as the Admiral continued.

"-but I have some genuine concerns about two of your crew members. I feel I should bring your CMO on this as well, since the matter involves these Ensigns' health and the safety of the rest of your crew. Doctor McCoy, you may stay, but… ehm, lieutenant-" he fixed his gaze on Pavel. When McCoy saw the guarded look in Pavel's eyes, he realized that the animosity rolling off the captain must be obvious to everyone, not just him. And that was worrying, since that animosity was directed at one of Kirk's senior officers. A senior officer who could ground him and promote Spock to captain if the Admiral gave a good enough reason. McCoy was aware of several reasons the Admiralty could ground Jim; if the man in grey before him found out about even one, McCoy had a feeling he'd be calling the pointy-eared hobgoblin 'captain' for the next five years. Lord knows Spock wouldn't get himself killed doing something stupid like Jim would. Had. Of course, when the time came for Jim to die again, he would probably call it 'brave' or 'reckless' instead of something more accurate like 'brainless'.

"Both of them may stay," Kirk stated, matching the Admiral's hard tone. 'Then again, stupid bravery has its uses,' thought McCoy. "What do you want?" the captain asked. The Admiral pressed his lips together in a hard line and stared at Pavel for a few seconds. McCoy felt a surprising swell of pride when he realized Pavel wasn't going to rise to the bait. He just stood there with his hands behind his back, staring past the Admiral's ear. His neutral expression betrayed nothing and he seemed genuinely apathetic, but based on past experience McCoy was pretty sure he was seething inside. The doctor let himself smirk; he knew he liked that kid for a reason. The Admiral snapped his attention back to the captain.

"Two of your crew are not medically eligible for active duty. I don't even know how they were admitted to Starfleet in the first place, let alone get a commission of this magnitude!" the Admiral barked.

"Admiral Gallagher, all of my crews' files have been reviewed by me and my command crew. I have no concerns about any of them and they all are fully capable of completing their jobs. The finalized crew roster I sent three days ago is, in fact, final. Thank you for your concern."

"But Ensign Whitten-" McCoy felt his stomach drop as those words left the Admiral's mouth. Whitten?

"Has been personally approved for active duty by me-" Kirk snapped.

"You can't-"

"-and Admiral Pike, prior to his death! The same goes for Ensign Brooke. There is nothing about their jobs that they should not be able to complete!"

"That doesn't-" The Admiral tried to protest, but Kirk would have none of it.

"Ensigns Whitten and Brooke are fully competent Starfleet officers, perfectly healthy, and in no way a danger to the rest of the crew! Now, unless you feel like taking it up with Admiral Pike, I would suggest you not pursue this issue any further. Now back away, sir!" Kirk shouted.

McCoy had been so wrapped up in the argument that he had failed to notice that Kirk and the Admiral had gotten almost nose to nose. He had also failed to notice that the area around the four of them was now clear of anyone. The crowd had formed a semi-circle, a small pocket of air against the fence. About half of the spectators were trying to look anywhere but at the arguing officers and the other half seemed so fascinated they couldn't look anywhere else. The smooth half-circle rippled suddenly and a shuffling noise came from McCoy's right; Hikaru, Spock, and Nyota emerged from the wall of onlookers. All three of them were startled and glanced around, taking in the tense atmosphere and energy. McCoy felt Nyota's eyes settle on him, and he realized his right hand was a fist and the muscles of his arm were tied in knots. It took a conscious effort to relax; by the time he had done that, the Admiral-whose-last-name-is-apparently-Gallagher had stepped back and donned a thin veil of decorum.

"Uh, Captain, Admiral," Hikaru intoned. He cut off as everyone's gaze flashed over to him. "They, uh, they need your presence at the stage." The pilot tacked on a hasty salute at the end and waited for a reply. The silence – as silent as it could get on the edge of a crowd that size – persisted until the Admiral finally drew all the way back and nodded once in Hikaru's direction.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," the Admiral ground out. With an artificially stolid look in the captain's direction, he strode off, the wall of people parting before him. Jim tried to follow immediately. His expression was murderous and McCoy could tell the only thing his friend wanted out of life right then was a half-way decent excuse to give Admiral Gallagher a bloody nose. Before Jim could move more than a foot away, McCoy felt himself spring forward to stand in front of his friend, his hand shooting forward to grab Jim's shoulder.

"Don't," McCoy hissed. "I know you and I know what you're thinking, but do not ruin this at the last second. In a few hours we'll be out of here… hopefully. Just wait to blow up until then." The tumultuous look on the captain's face was all the response McCoy needed. He kept a hold of his friend's shoulder until his expression relaxed somewhat.

"Fine," the captain muttered. McCoy breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, Jim wasn't happy, but at least he would wait to rant about it until he wasn't around people who could relieve him of command. The surrounding crowd had resumed their conversations, but the tense feeling in their pocket of inactivity endured until Hikaru cleared his throat and broke the spell.

"You know, I wasn't kidding when I said they wanted both of you at the stage…" he said, taking a step backward after Spock and Nyota. They had already turned and were forcing their way through the crowd. Pavel dashed to catch up to his friend and left McCoy and the captain to trail after them all.

"You never sent me Ensign Whitten's file," McCoy whispered. "If something is medically wrong with her I need to sign off on it… or at the very least know about whatever it is. Same with Ensign… Book? Brooke? That was the name, right?"

"You don't need to sign-off on it, trust me. It's all cleared with Starfleet. I don't know why that-" Jim stopped himself, probably from using an expletive, "I don't know why the Admiral is trying to pick a fight over it." McCoy snagged the captain's arm when it looked like he was about to charge ahead through the crowd.

"Kirk." His friend snapped his gaze over to him. The last time either of them he used each other's last name outside of a professional setting was… McCoy couldn't even remember. "I need to know. What is wrong with her?" he insisted. Jim opened his mouth to reply, a confused look on his face.

"You guys coming?" Hikaru shouted back to them. Jim paused, mouth still gaping, before turning toward Hikaru.

"Yeah! Be right there!" Jim called. With one last look at McCoy, he turned and pushed his way through the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know there's been a lot from McCoy recently, but it really was supposed to be one chapter and I didn't want to rewrite it from another POV. Guess I'm lazy. Still working on typing new chapters and editing, so we're still on a one chapter a week schedule.
> 
> Oh yeah, and I gave Chekov a promotion, so he's a lieutenant now. Good for him, right?


	9. Jargon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. And finally from Kirk's POV! It's really more of a plot chapter, very little angsty stuff.

Chapter 9: Jargon

Jim was a little perplexed at Bones' almost frantic need to know what was wrong with Whitten and complete disregard for Brooke. In fact, he was so perplexed that he pondered it the entire way to the stage. Was Bones really so stressed about the mission? Had the Admiral talked to him about more than the acceptable loss number? Obviously, Admiral Gallagher hadn't mentioned Whitten before now or Bones would already know what was wrong with her. That also ruled out Bones recognizing the name… if he knew the girl, he'd already know she was deaf. But how'd he know it was a girl? And why'd he just ignore Ensign Brooke? Did he know someone else with the same last-

The realization was so sudden Jim almost stopped walking. Rachel Leigh Whitten. McCoy's ex-wife. But Ensign Whitten was 20, so it couldn't be her! A relative maybe? He continued to ponder the issue even as Hikaru and Spock cleared a path through the crowd for the other four people of the command crew to walk through. And then suddenly Admirals in grey were ushering him toward the stage and up three steps and then he was standing there in front of the crowd, next to a microphone, with nothing to say. Lucky break; improvising was a strong suit of his. He quickly ran through his options as the applause petered away. He was the last to go and everyone else would have already given speeches about how exciting and austere and solemn an occasion this was… All heavy stuff. 'Okay, time to lighten the mood a little bit,' he thought. The silence was starting to become awkward.

"Oh? Am I supposed to talk now?" He smirked and there was a polite laugh from the crowd. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Will the owner of the blue Sol with license plate number," he paused and held up his hand, palm towards his face, and squinted. "Uh, 38G- no! 386CEK please move your vehicle? It's blocking a fire hydrant." There was some more light laughter and Kirk gave himself a mental pat on the back. In the back of his mind he just really hoped no one actually looked up that plate number. It was his. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the Admirals all wore mortified expressions, though a few hid smiles like the rest of his command crew who were milling about at the corner of the stage.

"In all seriousness, though, what can I say that my… esteemed colleagues…" he paused and gave a light cough that might have had the word 'not' somewhere in the modulations. The crowd openly laughed this time. Jim smiled and continued, "… haven't already said. Yes, this mission is exciting. It's amazing and a wonderful opportunity to learn more about this impossible universe we live in. But what I really want to say, what I really want to acknowledge, is the sacrifice that is being made for it and the bravery that takes. And the members of the Enterprise's crew are not the only brave ones. The friends and family who are staying have just as much courage as the crew that is leaving. It is bravery of a different kind, yes, but that does not mean it is not just as hard to come by. You, the people we will be leaving behind for the next five years…" Jim paused, seeing the faces swimming in front of him for the first time since mounting the stage. "You are making a sacrifice by going without your loved ones. And I just wanted to acknowledge that before the Enterprise leaves. Thank you, all of you. You have surpassed all measures of courage in the face of this mission and you will always have my thanks and admiration. I will strive to be as worthy of your respect as all of you are of mine."

As Jim turned and walked off the stage to the sound of thunderous applause, Nyota sauntered over to the steps. When he reached the bottom, the xenolinguist leaned over the handrail and whispered, "Good job. I could almost believe you prepared for that." Jim glanced behind her and saw Spock approach.

"Very well-handled, Captain. Now I believe it is time to board the shuttles," he intoned, nodding to the stage behind Jim. A woman in a grey uniform now stood before the microphone and was giving instructions to a tumultuous crowd that paid her no mind.

"Board? Now, but we're still missing…" and as Jim was just about to ask where Scotty could possibly be, a jumble of people near the edge of the stage were shoved out of the way. The man himself, hauling a giant black duffle that could have doubled as a body bag, stumbled up to them. 'Speak of the devil,' Jim thought.

"Nice speech," Scotty puffed, "good and short. Lot better than the endless wind coming out of our 'esteemed colleagues,' eh? Nice touch by the way, the 'not'! Made me laugh. Well, almost. I couldn't breathe at the time." He staggered a bit and nearly knocked over Pavel who dodged as best he could and helped Scotty lay the bag on the ground. Hikaru stood next to them with a bewildered expression on his face.

"What- how- why-" The pilot couldn't seem to decide what question he wanted to ask Scotty, so Jim decided to pick one for him.

"When'd you get here?" he asked the engineer, who had only just regained his balance. Jim looked over his friends' shoulders and noticed a few people giving them odd looks and hoped no one said anything about "Starfleet decorum" or "esteem" or "acting your age" before they were well away (and unable to hear any of them through the empty vacuum of space). When Scotty was about to answer the crowd around them surged backwards towards the shuttles beyond the fence. The red, gold, blue, and grey uniforms were all squirming through the mass in an attempt to reach the front. If Jim had to hazard a guess – and based on the frantic shouting of the lady on the stage, it wasn't that much of a leap – then all of the instructions she'd given had gone unheeded, and what he was observing in the crowd was anarchy at its finest. Soon enough the command crew was an island in the deserted half of ship yard; the other half held the condensed crowd, pressed farther together than Jim had thought physically possible.

"Well, this will go over well on the news," Hikaru stated.

"I must assume you are using sarcasm, since chaos can only be considered a negative quality in any event, and given the current relations between Starfleet and the media, it will shine an even poorer light on the leadership skills of the Admirals and captains," Spock informed. Not that all of them didn't already know that.

"Thanks, buddy," Jim deadpanned and then looked back over to Scotty who seemed to have regained at least a little of his breath back.

"I got here about fifteen minutes ago and it took me that long to get over here! How long do you think it'll take to get through that?" he asked peering towards the mob that had packed itself against the far fence.

"Guess we'd better find out," he sighed, and trudged toward the mass. It was then he remembered that the outside fence was lined with photographers and that he and the command crew were clearly visible in the wide open half of the shipyard. He drew himself up and put on his "Captain" face; he could feel the shift in energy behind him. No longer were they just Jim and Spock and Pavel. They were Chiefs, Lieutenants, Commanders. Captain. He felt his friends right behind him every step of the way toward the shuttles. He couldn't help the smile that came to his face when he realized how perfectly metaphorical that was.

About half way to the edge of the throng that covered the low barrier between the yard and the shuttles, Jim glanced back at his friends, just out of curiosity. Spock and Bones were just behind him, Hikaru and Pavel forming a row behind them, and Uhura and Scotty brought up the rear. He snorted at the fact that they had somehow managed to arrange themselves by uniform color. When his group reached the border of the chaos he slapped a hand onto the shoulder of the nearest Starfleet Ensign he could find: a terrified twenty-something in a red shirt.

"You might want to cover your ears," the captain told him. When the Ensign and several of the people around him had done so, Jim brought his fingers to his mouth and heard Bones behind him slap his hands to his ears. Yeah, he knew what was coming.

'Thanks, Chris,' Jim thought, and then whistled as loud and as long as he could; he was forever grateful to Pike for teaching him that. The silence rippled outward and the people nearest him cringed away… except for Bones who stood there with a smirk on his face and his hands over his ears. When finally the entire crowd was silent and had turned to look for the source of the whistle, Jim stuck his hand up and gestured with two fingers for his command crew to follow him. Red Shirt latched onto rear of their motley crew, trailing after them like a baby duck. Before them, the crowd parted like butter. As they slipped through the mob, the crew stranded in the crowd made their way toward them instead of the gates, joining the terrified twenty-something year old in the red shirt behind the command crew.

Jim exhaled and only just stopped the breath from coming out shaky. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. How many years? How much time and effort and struggle? He knew Spock would say the last two weren't even quantifiable and he'd be inclined to agree in this instance. He'd put in way too much work for those values to ever drop below infinity. And finally the crowd parted for the final time and the ten turnstiles and guards at the gates came into view. Even with the shuttles just behind the gates, it was a rather underwhelming sight to be leading him to one of the biggest undertakings of his entire life.


	10. Disquiet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a longer chapter today. It's also a bit angsty; our poor little navigator has a few unresolved issues.

Chapter 10: Disquiet

Pavel felt himself start to shake as he and the command crew approached the divider between the majority of the shipyard and the shuttles. More and more crew began to file behind them, filtering through the ranks and rows of civilians lining the path to the gates. Pavel could do nothing as the captain, Doctor McCoy, Spock, and Hikaru all marched off to enter the gates to the left. He couldn't help it when he stepped forward, and just watched as his hand deposited his ID into the palm of the guard. Pavel screamed, hollering as loud as could, but he couldn't open his mouth and no sound escaped him. The only thing he found himself capable of doing was observing the world slide around him as shuttle one's shadow loomed over his own.

When he finally came back to himself, the shuttle had swallowed him whole and the muffled sound of the crowd came to him through the open door. Then he was sitting in his seat - the window seat on the far left in the second row - and the shuttle pilot was closing the door, sealing off the noise of the crowd. He looked out the window and could see the crowd pantomiming a roaring cheer, but the only thing he could focus on were the higher numbered shuttles – all loaded and sealed – peeling themselves off the ground and into the sky.

100… 99… 98…

"Hikaru," Pavel whispered.

93… 92… 91…

"Hikaru," he rasped, only slightly louder. He was still unable to take his eyes off the window, but saw the reflection of his friend glance at him quizzically.

"What's up? You're white as a sheet!" the pilot exclaimed and turned to face Pavel fully. Hikaru sounded alarmed and the young navigator felt his friend grab his shoulders, pulling and pushing; he was doing everything to get him to turn away from the window. But Pavel couldn't. He kept watching the shuttles shrinking into the blue.

76… 75… 74…

"Hey, kid," it was Doctor McCoy speaking now. Pavel didn't reply.

69… 68… 67…

In a slightly lower tone of voice, Pavel heard the doctor say, "Hikaru, go sit with Jim. I'll talk to Pavel." The seat next to the navigator squeaked and the sound of Doctor McCoy settling in filled his right ear. His left was filled with the sound of his own rushing pulse. A large, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist and a sharp intake of breath accompanied it only a moment later. "Kid… Pavel!" Doctor McCoy's tone was urgent now. And the shuttles were taking off faster, almost in time with the rushing blood Pavel heard.

51… 50… 49…

"Pavel!" They were halfway done. And he just didn't know. He didn't know if he could do it – all of it – all over again. He could feel his head shake slightly side to side, but he knew he hadn't meant to. He could hear his breath, his heartbeat, and the roar of the crowd in the distance even though he knew that was impossible.

43… 42… 41…

"PAVEL!" the doctor shouted and then the sounds were gone. He let himself be turned away from the soft glow of the window to the dim interior of the shuttle.

The captain stood in the middle of the aisle and Spock sat in the seat behind him, peering around Kirk to look in Pavel's direction. Scotty had turned around in his chair immediately in front of Pavel, and Nyota was half out of her seat in the back row, clutching the back of Spock's chair. Hikaru looked frightened, staring at Pavel around McCoy. And McCoy… the doctor wasn't sitting next to Pavel like the navigator had thought. He was kneeling in the chair, bent over the armrest and clutching Pavel's shoulders. His eyes were impossibly wide. In the back of his mind Pavel noted that the doctor's hands were shaking and that probably wasn't a good response to fear in a man of his profession. He was a well-qualified surgeon, after all.

"You okay, kid?" Doctor McCoy asked. Two tricorders lay discarded on the floor, one at the foot of the chair and the other underneath the front row. Pavel's eyes darted from them, around the shuttle again, and back to McCoy. The doctor still looked panicked. "Are you okay?" he asked again, this time giving Pavel's shoulders a small shake. Pavel nodded mutely and Doctor McCoy fell back to sit on his heels. "God, kid. I thought you promised not to scare me like that again!" he rasped. The shuttle's engine whirred and Pavel's stomach did an endless variety of twists. "You're back with us, right?" McCoy asked. He still clutched Pavel's shoulders.

"I'm fine, doctor. Really, I am," he stuttered. Out of the corner of his eye Pavel saw the final shuttles launch.

3… 2…

Their own shuttle lurched.

1.

The navigator turned to look back out the window, to watch the earth fall away, but McCoy wouldn't let him.

"None of that, now," the doctor said. He almost sounded out of breath, like he had been running. "What happened? You've been out of it all week and now this. What's been up with you?" Pavel shook his head again, this time intentionally.

"I don't know…" he whispered. That was a lie. "I don't know if…" Pavel saw Scotty shift and reach out to him on the edges of his vision, the red sleeve of his uniform coming in to view. A flash of red and then there was blood everywhere and an edge of silver that dripped and was far too close for comfort and then there was even more red blood everywhere and red lights flashing and a man in a red shirt whose name he didn't know was sliding, sliding down a tilted floor and falling to his death and then blinking red alerts on a transporter when he just wasn't fast enough- Pavel flinched away from his friend's outstretched hand and he knew that everyone saw. Knew that everyone knew what was wrong. How could they not know how broken he was?

"Don't know if… what?" the captain prodded from over McCoy's shoulder. Nobody had moved, nobody had seen him flinch away from Scotty. They didn't see. Didn't know… didn't know he was shattered. And as long as he kept the pieces together on the surfaces, they never would. He felt an overwhelming combination of panic and relief at that.

"Nothing," Pavel let out a shaky laugh. "Just nerves got the better of me, I guess. I'll be fine, I just," he gave a not-entirely-faked grimace, "I just need a minute." He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. He took a few breaths and tried to pull the pieces of Lieutenant Chekov back together. If he could do that they would never know what was wrong with Pavel. There was an uncomfortable shifting and murmuring in the periphery of his hearing. He clearly heard Nyota collapse back into her seat. When Doctor McCoy finally moved – it took a minute and a quiet "Bones," from the captain – Pavel felt at ease enough to crack open his eyes and watch the horizon fall away through the window. He was not unhappy to see it go. When all he could see was black and blue out the window he closed his eyes again and wondered how long he could keep the mask on. How long would it take them to figure out that Chekov was just a façade covering up the remains of a boy name Pavel?

When he pictured those remains the pieces looked faded, but were brought into jagged relief by the gaping chasms between them.

'How to fix it?' he used to wonder. 'How to put the pieces back together? How to care again?' He gave up trying to answer those questions. They were not relevant anymore. All he could do was pretend to be Chekov and smother Pavel beneath the mask; no one would ever know just how far the Russian whiz kid had fallen into the cracks left between the pieces of the person he used to be. It was a question he never asked anymore: 'How to fix it?' Only ever: 'How to hide it?'

Hiding it wouldn't work forever. The doctor had some idea of how bad off he was. And the rest knew that something was wrong.

Hiding it wouldn't work forever, but Pavel was going to hide it for as long as possible. He had a responsibility to his friends to keep going and keep working. He'd create a problem just like he always had. Invent something to explain his behavior and then write it off when he managed to get a hold of himself again. Pretend the fake problem had been dealt with. Taking a final deep breath, Pavel braced himself and opened his eyes. He glanced over to the doctor who he knew was still watching him like a hawk.

"Really, Doctor McCoy. I'm fine. I just needed a minute." He put on smile; it was shaky, but smiles would be after a panic attack. "How about we talk? It might help both of us," Pavel inquired. The mood in the shuttle seemed to relax at that and conversations from minutes before were picked up. Everyone knew about Doctor McCoy's fear of space and flying. 'If Chekov offered to distract McCoy from the thought of flying in a shuttle, he must be feeling better!'

At least, that's what Pavel wanted everyone to think.

"Kid, I want to believe you. I do, but-" the doctor sighed. "You promised me this once. Now do it again. Promise me that we're not… we're not heading back to what happened with the," McCoy seemed to choke on the word he wanted to say. He made a vague gesture at the air to his side, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. "With the accident," he pleaded instead.

"Of course, Doctor McCoy. I promise," Pavel nodded solemnly. After a brief moment of hesitation, McCoy picked up talking about a scientific periodical they both read and Pavel congratulated himself for not lying.

How could you head back to some place you never left?

After a few minutes of discussion about a newly developed precision dermal regenerator, Pavel circled around to another subject. This one had been bothering him since his and the doctor's rushed discussion in the hallway two days before, and he felt in control of himself enough to try to go back to normal topics.

"Doctor McCoy, I meant to ask if your daughter came to-"

"No," the doctor growled, "No, she did not."

"Oh." Pavel blinked. "I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, my mother could not come either."

"As it happens, that does not make me feel any better," McCoy grumbled. "What kind of mother lets her own son leave for five years and not come to say goodbye?" he exclaimed. Pavel bristled a little at that.

"The kind that's very busy taking care of children who need her more than one who left seven years ago," he retorted. "My mother has her own life and I can take care of myself. I do not blame her for not saying good bye in person." This time the doctor that blinked and gave a sad sort of half smile.

"Well then, I guess I'm more a kid than you, 'cause I'm still harboring a bit of resentment about Joey not showing up," he muttered. He fidgeted a bit and pulled on the hem of his shirt. Pavel had started to notice that was a nervous habit of the doctor's but only ever when he was talking about his daughter or the captain.

"You said she had final exams, right? Do you really want her to miss them and fail her classes?" Pavel asked, even though he already knew the answer. He could understand why the doctor was mad, but at the same time he didn't want him to stay angry with his daughter. Pavel knew how destructive it could be to keep resentment that close to your heart. "Speaking as someone who's had this discussion with a parent before, just remember the she has her own life, too. Her own goals. But that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She just can't wait around to start her life when it's convenient for you." McCoy scoffed.

"Ain't that the truth. You know I haven't been in the same physical location as her for four years? And now I'm gonna go and make it nine! Yeah, we've had video calls and written letters and all of that, but it still gets discouraging," the doctor sighed. He pulled out his wallet and started flipping through it. Pavel saw the doctor's regular ID card, Starfleet ID, some insurance cards, a hospital ID, and a few credit cards before McCoy finally stopped. Then, out from behind a piece of paper with emergency phone numbers written on it, came a picture. "I don't normally show off her picture, but this is Joey about a year and a half ago. She works at a stable in upstate New York and this is her favorite horse, Muse."

The picture's edges were a bit faded from handling, but there wasn't a crease or wrinkle to be seen on the paper. The girl in the center of the frame was so obviously related to McCoy it was almost painful. They had the same jaw, same face shape, same hair color, and there was a resemblance around the nose; she was not, however, a mini-McCoy. "Sweet" was not an applicable adjective to the doctor's appearance; it was to the girl in the picture. The horse next to her was nothing special as far as Pavel could tell (not that he was an expert). It was big, brown, and seemed to be a bit haughty, if such a word could be used to describe a horse.

"She looks very nice," was what Pavel said. What he thought was, 'And familiar… I've seen her before and not just because she looks like the doctor.'

"Yeah, she is. She's a good kid," McCoy replied, sliding the picture back into place and stuffing his wallet in his pocket.

"Hey, would you look at that," Scotty said from the seat in front of Pavel. The command crew all turned to face him and the engineer pointed out the window. "We're almost there." People got up and made their way to the window. Soon enough there were six faces all trying to see out of four tiny windows. McCoy seemed perfectly happy just to sit back and watch the chaos, shifting uneasily at the sight of space beyond the window. Pavel, however, got up right to the glass and looked out. Against the velvet black was a small, irregular white shape. As it grew larger, circled by 100 approaching shuttles, Pavel could make out NCC-1701 written out on the hull. The rest of the Enterprise gleamed in the light of a million distant stars.

All of a sudden the captain let out a loud whoop and started laughing. It was infectious. Soon the entire shuttle was filled with the laughter of the command crew. Even Spock cracked a smile. As the Enterprise and docking station grew and grew, Pavel realized that it was the first time he had really laughed in weeks. Possibly months. 'Maybe,' Pavel thought, 'it won't be so hard to keep it together now. Maybe I was just homesick.' The Enterprise was whisked out of view as shuttle one entered the docking station. 'I hope.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's that. Hope you enjoyed it. I know the ending is a bit cliche, but... the beginning was somewhat intense to write, so I was trying to wind down. Next chapter we're back to McCoy, and it should be up in a week around the same time.
> 
> Also, I was thinking about getting a beta reader to expedite the editing process and get some outside feedback. (Plus that would keep me on track with the typing, because the number of buffer chapters actually on my computer has gotten alarmingly low... also, none of them have been proofread, which is concerning) If anyone is interested please PM me!
> 
> Final note: I know I said no OC romance, but this last chapter has gotten me itching for something fluffy. And quite frankly, I just can't figure out how to make Spock and Uhura romance 'fluffy'. I know there are some people who can do that, but I can not. At least not successfully. Anyone particularly opposed to Sulu getting a girlfriend? He needs some love anyway, so at some point you're getting fluffy friendship or fluffy romance.
> 
> Wow this is a long author's note. If you're still reading, thanks so much! And thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed or favorited or even just reads this story consistently. Whenever I need a pick-me-up I take a look at the response this story has gotten and it makes me smile.
> 
> That's it for now. See you next Sunday!


	11. Trepidation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the update on a Friday? I'm trying out different update days. Because of this, it might be more than a week before the next update. Sorry. Might be sticking with Friday, though. Maybe Tuesday. Who knows?
> 
> Anyway, yay, early update! This is partially due to the finding-a-new-update-day-thing and also partially as a thank you for the lovely reviews and such I've gotten. If you like the way the story is going or have a note on something you want to happen, please leave a review. I already have the plot, but I'll try to weave in some requests.

Chapter 11: Trepidation

McCoy shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the rest of his friends clustered around the windows. Past their heads he could see bits of the window and what lay beyond… and what lay beyond was a great big expanse of nothing. Yeah, sure there were some stars, but they were way far away. In between the outer wall of the shuttle and those distant points of light was absolutely, positively… NOTHING.

No air, no solid ground… and no people.

At that thought the doctor couldn't help but turn and stare pointedly at a blank piece of wall. He really wanted to get to Med Bay. He was glad his friends were happy, but he could wait to join in on the festivities until after there were a few more walls between him and the icy, endless vacuum of space. When the docking station finally closed in around shuttle one and light from the hanger flooded the shuttle's cabin, McCoy inhaled deeply through his nose. He could finally relax a little.

"Uh, Scotty," Jim's voice snapped McCoy out of his reverie. The captain was walking back into the shuttle cabin from the cockpit, a fidgety ensign in gold behind him. 'That's who flew us here?' McCoy thought. 'The man is shaking like a Chihuahua dropped in snow! Not exactly confidence inspiring.' Oblivious to the doctor's train of thought, Jim continued to Scotty, "I meant to ask earlier. What's in the bag?" McCoy glanced over to where his friend was looking and saw what had given him pause. Scotty stood there, face as red as his shirt, desperately trying to lift the giant duffle up and over his shoulder.

"Tools, Cap'n! Didnae- want- ta risk-" Scotty finally hauled the bag's straps over his shoulders like a back pack. A cruelly sharp metal instrument of unclear purpose stabbed through the black canvas to the immediate left of Scotty's ear. Oblivious, the engineer continued, "I didn't want to risk them breaking because some idiot decided to throw the bag about." He paused and everyone's eyes flickered from Scotty's face to the metal spike three inches to the right in rapid succession. "What?"

"Do not look to your left," McCoy replied on instinct, realizing as soon as the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say.

It was like showing a child a wet paint sign and then expecting them not to touch whatever it was on. Next thing you know, you have a white washed wall with stucco-ed hand prints and a cheerful toddler running around leaving white streaks on absolutely everything. And then you're breaking your back over a tub, trying to keep the milky white water actually inside it but only managing to give the toddler – who was supposed to be getting clean – a nice water works show. Long story short, Scotty looked to his left.

His eyes widened comically and he stumbled to the right, as if that was going to help. Hikaru jumped forward and snagged the engineer's arm before he could ram himself into the wall, possibly impaling more strange instruments through the canvas and into himself. He didn't quite catch the engineer before he ran into the first row of seats, though. Scotty grinned sheepishly around the cabin, and swung the pack gently back off, resigning himself to just lug it to its final destination.

"Scotty, go drop that off wherever it's going and then report to Engineering. You have two hours to check over everything. Again," Jim said, putting an undue amount of stress on 'again.' "Don't try to deny it. I know you've come up here every day for the past week to check everything."

"Well, excuse me for being dedicated to my job and making sure we don't all end up vaporized!" Scotty protested, heaving the bag toward the shuttle's door.

"I thought you said there weren't any problems!" Jim exclaimed.

"Easy there, Captain. There's nothing wrong, everything in perfectly fine," Scotty assured him. Out of the corner of his eye McCoy saw Hikaru fidget. As the conversation between the engineer and captain continued in the background, McCoy turned his full attention to the pilot (who McCoy would have really preferred as the person who flew the shuttle up, but too late now). Out of all the command crew, he was the person McCoy had spent the least amount of time with. It wasn't that the doctor didn't like him or didn't want to spend time with him; it was just that they never really crossed paths beyond when everyone else was present or Hikaru got hurt. The pilot started clenching his fists and twiddling his thumbs, evidently unaware of what he was doing. He was on edge. 'Well now, Hikaru. What do you know?' McCoy wondered. For the first time since the doctor had started observing him, Hikaru's eyes shifted over to McCoy; the pilot had become aware that he was being watched. It was then it occurred to McCoy that Hikaru had been staring at Scotty the entire time.

"Just as long as you don't blow up my ship, I guess we're okay," Jim said, apparently continuing something McCoy hadn't been paying attention to. McCoy maintained eye contact with Hikaru and gave a subtle jerk of the head to the back of the shuttle's dim interior. "Come on, let's go," Jim finished and turned to exit the shuttle, sidling awkwardly past the shuttle pilot. The shuttle pilot himself seemed to hesitate, eyes flickering around the cabin; ultimately, he forced himself out of the door, but it seemed he was tearing himself away from something. 'Understandable. This has got to be difficult on everyone,' McCoy thought. Scotty staggered after him with the gigantic duffle in tow and Spock, Uhura, and Pavel followed. When he reached the door, Pavel turned back around and looked curiously at them both.

"Go ahead," Hikaru said, "I'll catch up." Pavel hesitated and his eyes flickered between the two of them. After a few seconds of silence a muscle in his jaw jumped like he wanted to say something, thought better of it, and swallowed his words. McCoy wondered if he should be worried about that. Before he could ask though, the young lieutenant turned and walked out. "So, uh…" Hikaru trailed off and glanced from the now empty doorway and the doctor.

If McCoy knew anything about bolters – and he did; there were many a Starfleet officer who managed to be afraid of doctors and nothing else – then the pilot was one of them. McCoy would never have connected this man with Acting Captain Hikaru Sulu of the USS Enterprise who threatened to send 72 missiles of unknown content hurtling toward the Klingon homeworld. That Sulu was brave, reckless, and dead serious. This one was like a shy debutante at cotillion, all blushes and glances and half-finished sentences.

It made McCoy sick.

"What did you want to talk to me about? I mean, I assume you wanted to talk to me about something… I thought you did, anyway, uh…" Hikaru again left his thought unfinished and resorted to glancing at the windows, though those offered no hope of escape whatsoever.

'Good god man, I'm embarrassed for you!' McCoy thought. What he said was:

"When Scotty was talking about vaporizing us you looked nervous." Then it occurred to McCoy that, 'No he didn't...' "I take that back. You were perfectly fine when Scotty mentioned vaporizing us. It was only when he said everything was fine that you got twitchy. Which, by my reckoning, is not the point in the conversation to start getting nervous." Hikaru's head actually turned this time as he looked between McCoy and the door. The good doctor, now assured he had Hikaru on the ropes, put on his DOCTOR FACE (patent pending). In a tone that brooked no nonsense he asked, "So are you going to tell me what's wrong or?"

He left the question hanging since he couldn't actually threaten to inflict bodily harm. He could heavily imply it through tone and piercing gazes, but he could not outright state it. That whole oath-not-to-inflict-harm thing really got in the way sometimes.

"Nothing." McCoy barely had enough time to raise his eyebrows before Hikaru started talking again. "Before you start interrogating me, let me explain in the best way that I'm able. Scotty was a bit freaked the other day and when I asked him about it was he said was that there wasn't anything wrong with the ship and that it was ridiculous and unnatural for that to happen."

"That's a stupid thing to be worried about," McCoy deadpanned.

"I know, I thought about it that way too, but then I actually started thinking about it. Computer generated specs can only do so much. Technically, automated navigation and piloting systems on a ship can do all the work. But if I had a nickel for every time the computer working on its own would have gotten us killed, I wouldn't need a job."

That statement got McCoy thinking. Would he let a machine do his job? His immediate response to that question was the sort of nausea he associated with oceans, pleasant breezes, and jarring seasickness. The nausea was closely followed by a resounding 'Hell no!' Realistically, he could see where both Scotty and Hikaru were coming from on the whole freak out thing. But as a CMO at least partially responsible for these people's mental health, he wasn't about to say that.

"So, you're nervous because Scotty's nervous because that the ship is perfect and not about to kill us like the last time we were on it? I'm not trying to criticize you or anything." McCoy forced his expression into an 'I am totally judging you right now' look that contradicted his words. "I'm just checking that's right." After a few moments' consideration Hikaru nodded a few times.

"Yeah. That about covers it," he replied.

"Okay." McCoy stared at him. "Suck it up." When the pilot gave him a confused look and opened his mouth to protest, McCoy continued, "Being nervous about that isn't going to help you do your job. Some stress is fine – good stress helps you think on your feet and keeps you productive. But worrying about something you can't and don't have to control is just plain stupid. Let Scotty stress about it." Even as the words left McCoy's mouth he knew he would not be following his own advice. He felt like there was a rope comprised entirely of knots sitting in his stomach. He couldn't wait to get to Med Bay.

"Alright," Hikaru sighed. "Look, I've got to report to the bridge. See you at the launch." He then finally got to leave the shuttle just like he had been hoping for the entire conversation. As the gold of Hikaru's shirt whisked out of sight McCoy couldn't help the sigh that escaped him. He knew he hadn't seen the end of that problem. He made a mental note to call Scotty in for a 'chat' within the next few days, assuming McCoy wasn't too busy. He didn't care whether Scotty was busy or not; he'd drag him to Medical by his ear if he had to. 'Then again,' McCoy thought, 'if he were busy that would solve the problem and I wouldn't need to talk to him.' With a final glance around the cabin of the shuttle, McCoy took half a step toward the exit before a blue glint caught the edges of his vision. He stooped next to it – it was under the first row of seats – and found it came from a medical tricorder.

'Must've kicked it under the seat after that whole business with Pav-' McCoy's train of thought stopped abruptly. About a foot away from the tricorder was a small puddle, no more than a few drops, of red. It was just next to the window seat of the second row. Pavel's seat. McCoy fell back just a little bit, staring at those impossible drops. They didn't move or disappear. They weren't a figment of his imagination. 'I should have been more worried.'

The next thing he knew he was on a turbolift on the way up to the bridge of the Enterprise. There was sweat beading on his forehead and he felt like his lungs didn't have enough room for the air he needed to shove into them. He knew he must have ran to where he was now… ran all the way through a hangar, a space dock, and a starship to get to the lift, but try as he might he remembered nothing of the trip. Except for maybe grey and white blurs with some primary colors thrown in. He tried to calm down and regulate his breathing, but he was on auto-pilot and there was only so much he could right then. The doors slid open – far too slowly – and McCoy exploded onto the bridge. Dashing across the room, he went straight for the navigator's station where Pavel was laughing a something an ensign in a red shirt had said.

"Bones!" Jim shouted, jumping up from the captain's chair. "What are you doing?" The captain lunged forward as McCoy grabbed Pavel's upper arm and dragged him out of his chair and back towards the turbo lift. The kid's eyes were wide and frightened; he looked seventeen again. "Bones!" Jim called again through the closing doors to the lift. There was a 'woosh' and then they were cut off from the bridge and heading down, though McCoy did not remember giving a destination. Maybe there was a new computer protocol: if the CMO is running around like a chicken with its head cut off the default destination is probably Med Bay. More likely, though, was the option that he'd said something when he didn't mean to. All these thoughts and more crossed his racing mind as he threw Pavel against the back wall of the turbolift and whirled to slam his hand down on the 'hold' button.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Pavel yelled. McCoy gave no vocal response, opting instead to grab Pavel left arm and yank up his sleeve. And then he froze. Because there was nothing wrong.

McCoy had a sudden epiphany regarding Scotty's problem with the ship's theoretical perfection. When you expect a problem and then don't find one, it can be almost as unsettling as a real problem.

The only thing there was a thin white scar that faded into Pavel's natural skin tone. It was from the accident with the box of razors a few months before… McCoy knew it had actually been an accident, even if few others believed it. As McCoy continued to stare at his wrist, Pavel froze as well and gaped. McCoy almost did the same but grabbed the navigator's right wrist and inspected it, too. That one was completely clean.

"Doctor McCoy," Pavel began solemnly, "We already discussed this. That accident will never happen on purpose. Ever. Why are you checking now?" Pavel's voice had dropped to a whisper and his eyes were still unusually wide. "What changed?" Again, McCoy did not vocally reply. Instead he looked down to his belt to grab his tricorder – just to make sure everything was really as fine as it seemed – only to discover he already had one in his hand in addition to the one on his belt.

'Did I grab one on the way here?' McCoy wondered, struggling to remember any detail about his mad dash to the Enterprise's bridge. Nothing came to him, but he supposed that snatching a random one was the only option.

"Doctor…" the young navigator started to slide sideways around McCoy toward the control panel."Are you alright?"

"Yeah, kid… uh, just…. Just hold still for a second, please," McCoy responded, fiddling with the tricorder he already held in his hand. Pavel drew to a stop next to him and the doctor held up the newly reset tricorder. No response. There was no whirring to indicate a scan and the screen remained blank. The only thing that seemed to work was the blinking blue light on the side. McCoy growled at it and muttered as he switched it out for the one on his belt. "Damn thing… piece'a crap… need to get quality control person fired…" Nothing would come of his grumblings, of course, but they seemed to set Pavel at ease a little bit. The doctor scanned Pavel using the functioning tricorder from his belt. "Well, it's the same readings as on the shuttle. Higher blood pressure than normal, of course, but still. Not reading any wounds."

"Wounds!" Pavel exclaimed, jumping a little bit. He bumped into the wall of the trubolift and stumbled, only just catching himself in time. During all of that he never took his eyes off McCoy. "We're at a spacedock! A random hostile is not just going to jump out of a Jefferies tube and stab me! And you already know I'm not going to hurt myself on purpose. Why were you checking for wounds?"

"There was some blood in front of your seat, almost under the front row." Pavel's mouth formed a small "O" and his jaw quivered slightly. McCoy reached over to the control panel and restarted the lift. He could feel his face flushing and he scratched the back of his neck. He really hoped this mistake wouldn't come back to bite him. "I was worried it might be yours. Your panic attack earlier freaked me out a little bit." McCoy stared pointedly at the tricorder in his hands, resetting it a few times so it would look like he was doing something.

"I guess that explains the kidnapping," Pavel said through a shaky laugh. His smile faded and he said in all seriousness, "I swear I'm fine now. You don't need to worry about me anymore."

McCoy cleared his throat. This conversation was dangerously close to becoming sentimental and he was starting to feel fidgety. He needed answers.

"Yeah, sorry for dragging you off the bridge like that. Anyway," the doors swished open and McCoy flung himself out of them, nearly running over a frightened blonde Ensign clutching a Padd. "I have to get to Med Bay." And with that he took off down the hall, barely hearing the alarmed squawk Pavel gave when he saw the Ensign.

"Taylor!"

McCoy would have found Pavel's surprise amusing if he hadn't been so preoccupied. 'The shuttles have to be on their way back to Earth by now! I really should have waited and scanned that blood when I had the chance. Although, given the context, it was a reasonable assumption to make… if a dangerous one. Only one other option.' McCoy flipped open his communicator.

"Mr. Scott, report to Med Bay immediately," the doctor commanded, striding down the hall. People in gold, blue, and red all leaped out of the way at his approach, dodging down side hallways or pressing themselves as close to the wall as they could get. He barely noticed, though. The communicator in McCoy's hand crackled to life as he approached the doors to his domain.

"But, Doctor, I-" Scotty protested.

"This is not optional. Report immediately." There was a burst of cursing on the other end of the line which McCoy cut off with a quick snap when he closed his communicator. And then finally, finally, he stepped through the doors to Med Bay. The gleaming white surfaces and sterile smell relaxed him, even though he knew that both or either would set anyone else on edge. He hadn't realized how tense he was until he felt the muscles in his back and face uncoil and smooth out.

"Chapel." He forced himself to smile at his head nurse who was walking back out of his office at the back of the room. "Glad you're back. Wasn't the same without you. You wouldn't believe the day I've had…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be hard to believe, but this is the second longest chapter in the whole story so far.
> 
> And WOW was it dialogue-heavy. That was pretty hard to write. Good news, though, we get Uhura's POV in the next chapter, so there's that to look forward to.
> 
> Still on the lookout for a beta-reader. PM me. Keep me on track. cough cough ThisWasTheLastTypedBufferChapterPleaseSendHelp cough cough (I have more hand written, though, don't worry about that.)
> 
> As a continuation of the 'review with requests' topic up at the top, there's going to be a bit of a time jump in a few chapters and after this fic done I'm going to start a story that's just a series of one-shots that fill up the time in between. So if you have a request for that just drop me a line and I'll see what I can do.


	12. Nucleotide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this we trip over the 30,000 word mark! Wow. Thanks again for the amazing response! Favorites and follows are amazing and reviews make my day!
> 
> It's a Wednesday update this time and the last one this month. Time really does fly! If all goes according to plan the next update should be on the 6th. Which, remarkably, is exactly two months after I posted the first chapter.
> 
> Additionally, I know it's a weird chapter title, but I couldn't think of a good one and the acronym (see below) without the "O" looks like a DNA sequence. So, "Nucleotide."
> 
> Yeah, I might need to get out more.

Chapter 12: Can't Think of a Good Chapter Title (CTOAGCT) (Nucleotide)

Nyota had barely been able to make it out of her chair by the time Leonard had dragged Pavel into the turbolift. Every person on the bridge was frozen, all turned toward the path he had taken from the lift to the navigation panel and back; most of them were also somewhere between sitting and standing. The only person still in motion was Kirk who dashed to the closed doors of the turbolift. It was only when he started repeatedly jamming his finger on the "recall" button that people finally came back to themselves, falling into their chairs or straightening up entirely. Nyota, clear headed as usual, remembered protocol and procedure much better than her captain (who usually knew it but just blocked it out).

"If transit is paused – manually or by emergency protocol – all signals from the decks are cut off. It's a safety mechanism to help with emergency quarantine and to seal off areas of the ship in case one is breached," she recited. "It's also to stop the doors from opening in the middle of an attack or emergency situation where the ship is tilted relative to the local gravity and any passengers would slide out." She had a sudden burst of memory from Khan's attack. The entire ship and everyone on it being flung around like ragdolls. Nyota shook her head just a bit, trying to dislodge the images.

Clear headed. That was her trademark. She was the calm one, the grounded one.

"Yes, thank you, Lieutenant Uhura. I definitely didn't already know that," Kirk snarked over his shoulder. He had resorted to banging on the wall next to the control panel.

No one seemed to appreciate level-headedness anymore.

"Computer, override turbolift protocol one four A-" Kirk began.

"Captain," Nyota snapped. "I think you should just let Doctor McCoy deal with… whatever this is. He'd let us know if there was a serious problem. Besides, when was the last time he ever hurt anyone?"

"Uh, last month, at my physical! He jabbed me with at least three hypos and one was just to shut me up!"

"I ask again, when was the last time he hurt anyone?" Nyota inquired, smirking. Jim scoffed at the light chuckles that filled the room; stalking back to his chair, he picked up the PADD he'd dropped when Leonard burst in.

"Well, he better hurry up. I need my navigator back before we start," the captain grumbled to the screen in front of him. Nyota smiled to herself as she ambled to Pavel's empty station. 'My navigator,' Jim had said. It was sweet, really. They'd always been pretty close, but after Khan, Kirk had gotten some sort of big brother instinct about 'his navigator.'

Nyota glanced over the panel Pavel had been working on. She studied the lines of equations and –making sure not to alter anything lest she make a change that spelled certain doom for everyone on board – scrolled through his work. She smiled at the endless strings of numbers, symbols, and variables, and the little notes scribbled in the margins in Russian. The Cyrillic alphabet stood out against the Standard and mathematics; the whole thing just seemed so… Pavel.

"Actually," she started. Jim glanced up from the PADD. "Barring emergencies, it looks like you don't need him for about three days."

"What? We've been on the bridge less than ten minutes! How could the ki-" Kirk cut himself off, "Even he couldn't have calculated the navigational equations for three days at warp in less than ten minutes."

"We're still in well known, well traveled space. He probably has this stuff memorized and didn't need to actually calculate anything. And even if he did he would have done it weeks ago when he got bored." Still smiling, Nyota turned and slipped back into her own station. She sat and resumed running diagnostics on the communications array. Ever so slowly, peopled picked up what they were doing before they were so rudely interrupted by Leonard. The incident was almost forgotten among the flurry of final checks when the turbolift doors slid open to reveal a frazzled Pavel. He tried to walk back to his station in a professional manner, but the ruddy splotches that stained his cheeks ruined the effect. 'Aw, he must be so embarrassed,' Nyota thought, desperately forcing down the urge to ruffle his hair. She knew he was a grown up and a lot more mature than most of the testosterone driven idiots on the ship, but she still couldn't get past the baby face and big eyes. Just as he was about to sit down, Pavel paused and turned towards her.

"I'm sorry, Nyota. I almost forgot." Pavel stepped out from in front of his chair and hopped up the two steps to get to her station. When he reached her, he proffered a small brown box with a red bow crushed to the top. "Here. Happy birthday."

"I told you I didn't want anything, but you are so sweet! Thank you, Pavel," Nyota said, standing and hugging him around the waist with one arm.

"You are welcome," he replied, shying away. If she thought his face was red before it was nothing compared to how he looked when she sat back down; he was more than a little flustered and stumbled backward to his own station.

Yeah. She was never going to be able to make it past the baby face. Just then there was a squawk of protest from the back of the bridge.

"Hey, I listened to you! You said you didn't want anything, so I didn't get you a present! See, it's the thought that counts!" Kirk protested. The PADD sat abandoned on the arm of his chair, tilting dangerously when he moved.

"I believed it when Hikaru said it and then apologized. But I do not believe it coming from you," Nyota said, never taking her eyes off her screen. She didn't need to turn around right then to tell the look on Jim's face was indignant.

"Can you believe this?" his voice was angled toward the other side of the bridge, probably asking a random new officer. "I do exactly what she says and I still get flack!" About sixty percent of the people on the bridge snickered. The remaining forty percent were silently questioning Starfleet's decision to hand over a couple billion dollar machine with formidable and advanced weaponry to an overgrown eight year old. Nyota, for her part, did both.

When the laughter died down she heard the turbolift returning. A few ensigns, a yeoman, and Hikaru stepped out of the lift and then dispersed, taking up seats at empty stations. Hikaru approached his seat and then hesitated, half turning to the captain's chair. He teetered for a moment on the edge of something; finally he turned all the way around to face Kirk.

"Did someone get hurt already?" he asked. Many of the other officers on the bridge stilled and waited for the answer.

"You asking about Bones?" Kirk asked.

"McCoy got hurt!" Hikaru exclaimed. Several eyebrows around the bridge shot up to meet hairlines. "But he's the CMO! And the mission hasn't even started!"

"No, no!" Kirk said hurriedly. "That's not what I meant. I meant, 'Do you mean to ask about Bones' mad dash through the ship?' I've already gotten a few concerned messages." He held up the PADD and shook it a bit. "Anyway, no. Everyone's fine, as far as I know. McCoy just ran in here for no apparent reason, kidnapped Pavel – er – kidnapped Lieutenant Chekov and then reported to Med Bay four minutes later. I think he made Scotty report to Medical for an exam, which should still be going on right now. No idea why, but I expect an update pretty soon," Kirk summed up.

Nyota spun away from her station to face her friends. About fifty percent of that information was new to her. Hikaru turned as well, but instead of looking to the captain again, he faced Pavel.

"What did McCoy want with you?" he inquired, slipping into the pilot's chair.

"What does he want with anyone? Stick a tricorder in their face and yell at them. The doctor is crazy," Pavel replied, shrugging. His face, which had only just returned to its normal shade, suddenly reverted to candy apple red at the attention. Meanwhile, the captain found his statement absolutely hilarious.

"Ha! That just about sums Bones up. Good job, kiddo- uh, Pavel. Lieutenant Chekov. Er…" Kirk floundered for a few seconds, "Lieutenant Uhura!" Kirk suddenly whirled to face her. "How's our communications array looking?" Nyota turned back to her station and responded:

"All systems normal, Captain."

"Great! Now…" and then he slowly worked his way around the bridge, asking after the systems, friends, and family. Behind her, Nyota heard Hikaru and Pavel snickering at something. After she couldn't find anything else to check at her station – there wasn't anything to fix or recalibrate, which was a bit bizarre – she got up and started checking her neighbors' stations and instruments. Everything seemed too quiet it was putting her on edge. When she got done with her neighbor's stations she sat back down in her own seat and picked up her PADD, intending to check out the new communications officers and xenolinguists she would need to work with.

Her first stop was the academic files; she flipped through them trying to find someone with any sort of potential. She knew in skill she was on the far upper side of the bell curve and was also aware that this resulted in a skewed view of the world and most of its inhabitants. Of course, Starfleet did not exactly scrape the bottom of the barrel of talent or skill in any field, but still. Being that far ahead sometimes made looking back a difficult mater.

Her xenolinguistics team would consist of Ensign Jacobs, Ensign Kamau, Ensign Xi, and Ensign Brooke… Xi seemed average for Starfleet. Kamau the same-ish, maybe a bit better. Jacobs – Nyota shuddered in horror when she saw his scores. 'Who did he bribe and how much did it take?' she had to wonder. It was a pretty motley crew for a mission of such magnitude… and on the flagship of the fleet! And then, suddenly, she saw Ensign Brooke's scores and the clouds cleared. For a moment she could have sworn she heard angels singing off in the distance. His scores were the definition of the word 'stupendous' and every variation thereupon that she knew. And he was as aurally sensitive as she way, possibly (probably) even more so. She'd heard something about Brooke when she was talking to an old professor at the Academy, but she'd just assumed the reports were exaggerated. They weren't though. It was amazing.

But as far as the languages he knew… the variety could use some work. There were some Earth languages – English, German, Russian, Mandarin. There were two dialects of Romulan; he was working on the third. And there was Vulcan. It was a bare minimum. Nyota continued to flick through his file. Apparently he was a quick study and had only spent three years in the Academy. He'd been fast-tracked so he'd be out by the Enterprise's departure date and hadn't had time for as many language courses. There was a little asterisk on his mission file, though.

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant Uhura."

Curious about her new colleague, she tapped it and found it took her to Brooke's public medical file. There wasn't much; in the public files there was usually just stuff like height, species, gender, major allergies, and special notes like 'prone to migraines'.

"Lieutenant Uhuraaaaa…"

In Brooke's case though, there was a single, very distinct note at the top. 'Blind. Uses guide dog.' It was followed by another asterisk. She glanced down at the bottom of the medical file and found in tiny black print: 'Friendly. Do not pet.'

She had to suppress some giggles. She knew the note was talking about the dog, but if you read it without really thinking, it almost sounded like it was talking about Ensign Brooke. 'Friendly. Do not pet.'

"Uhura!"

She snapped her head up. Kirk was standing next to her, a bemused smirk plastered on his face.

"Whatch'a doin'?" he asked, peering at the PADD in her hands.

"I was looking at the xenolinguistics specialists I'll be working with," she responded, turning off the PADD's screen.

"Oh yeah. I still don't know why they waited so long to get us the roster to review. It was a bit annoying. Really annoying, actually. Anyway, how's communications looking?"

"You already asked me that," Nyota replied smoothly. She then caught sight of the doors to the turbolift opening once again. Kirk followed her gaze and smiled at the latest person to make it to the bridge.

"Spock!" he exclaimed. Nyota had to stifle a giggle at the raised eyebrow her boyfriend gave the captain. "Give me some good news!" Kirk continued, ignoring Spock's expression.

"Are you asking for good news because there was some bad news, Captain?" the first officer inquired. "I was under the impression final preparations were going well."

"No bad news, Spock, no worries," Kirk chuckled. "But that doesn't mean I don't want more good news. So. How's everything?" The captain fell back into his chair and then sat forward, hands on his knees and grinning like a manic preschooler. Spock somehow managed to appear perplexed by only altering the position of his left eyebrow. It was to his credit that he appeared at least more used to the captain's antics, even if he wasn't totally acclimated yet.

"The planned departure time is in twenty minutes and it appears we can adhere to schedule. However, we've had an interdepartmental dispute. When I checked with Mister Scott he was cursing Doctor McCoy and when I checked on Doctor McCoy he was cursing Mister Scott… But both Engineering and Medical have completed final preparations. They are awaiting your orders. I-"

"Great!" Kirk flipped open his comm. "No rush, Bones, but get up here. We're leaving soon." The captain turned back to his first officer. "Sorry, Commander. Continue."

"I've already spoken to a few of the officers in charge of stellar cartography, geology, botany, and weapons, and they all appear satisfied with Ensigns assigned to them. Additionally, Doctor Marcus sends her regards from the weapons bay. She requested to be present on the bridge for the launch and I gave her my approval. I hope this was not out of line." He paused, waiting for a reprimand in case Kirk was feeling confrontational, but none came. He continued, "While in the stellar cartography department I heard some apprehensions regarding a deaf crew member, but Ensign Whitten appears fit for duty. When I met with her I also met an Ensign Brooke from xenolinguistics, who is blind. Despite any difficulties they may have had reaching this point, both appear to have sufficient means to function aboard this vessel in their assigned roles. If there are any problems, as Chief Science Officer I can make the final decision for Whitten's continued posting aboard the Enterprise… as long as you agree with my decision, Captain. As of now I have no qualms with her; her academic record is exemplary." Here Spock nodded at Kirk and paused expectantly.

"She's fine. Had some disciplinary stuff, but nothing too bad. Nothing worse than me, anyway. Keep going." Kirk nodded at his CSO and Spock nodded in return.

"Very well. I indeed had some concerns regarding her discipline record, but if you take no issue with it I will simply ignore it. As Brooke is in xenolinguistics I thought it wise to consult Lieutenant Uhura about what his work here will be." As Spock continued to speak Kirk appeared to get more and more restless. He shifted in his seat and started playing with the buttons on the arm of the chair. "I also thought that perhaps Doctor McCoy should be brought in to monitor how they adjust, as this is the first commission for both of them. If Doctor McCoy is included in this process it would also allow us to monitor and change specific assignments should they have difficulty." Kirk inhaled deeply through his nose and clenched his fist. Nyota wondered if she should let Spock know he was starting to approach what appeared to be dangerous territory. "It would be unwise to give them an extra task they are unprepared for or unable to complete due to special circumstan-"

"I don't get why everyone is so hung up on these two! They made into and through the Academy under their own power, why is it so difficult for people to accept they can handle this?" Kirk exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. Nyota had to admit she was a bit surprised. The captain was wired a little bit weird, sure, but sudden out bursts were out of character even for him. He'd been weird all week, though, so this might actually be the new normal. Or it could be a touchy subject for some reason. The more Nyota thought about the more likely it seemed to her that it was just a sensitive subject. After all, since that argument with the Admiral, Kirk had seemed just fine.

He started trudging backwards and forwards behind the captain's chair with his face screwed up in a grimace; on his second trip toward Spock he apologized. "Sorry for cutting you off again. And sorry for the shouting… I know it's not what you meant. You already said they're fine."

Instead of replying, Spock just walked over to Nyota, giving her a glance that she translated as 'You handle this.' She couldn't help sighing; if there was one thing she hated, it was refereeing those two when they had a problem communicating. She didn't care if communication was "technically" her department. She was a xenolinguistics specialist, not a therapist! (And starting to sound like McCoy, which was worrying.)

"I have no concerns about Ensign Brooke. He has great potential in all areas of communications, but is especially aurally senstitive. In that area he appears to have tested higher than anyone else on board," Nyota stated. It took some restraint to not add 'Even me,' to the end of that sentence. She had a feeling that would come off as conceited and resentful.

"He tested higher than every xenolinguist on board?" Spock asked. It wasn't as subtle as Nyota would have gotten from, say, Sulu, but it was more than she normally would have hoped for from Spock. But as if the statement wasn't enough, it appeared Spock was trying to convey the significance of his words by staring straight through her. Trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice, she replied,

"Yes. Every. I think it might be partially attributed to his being blind. Many times when humans lack one sense, they become more sensitive in others to compensate."

'I know you're not trying to, but please stop embarrassing me. It's hard enough dealing with being knocked off my pedestal without all of the extra emphasis,' Nyota thought. Spock's gaze snapped back to the captain. Nyota blinked at the abruptness and glanced down to see if their hands had brushed. Vulcans were touch telepaths, after all. But they were standing a good foot apart, just like she had thought. 'I guess he must be getting better at reading me.' For some reason that gave her a warmer feeling than earlier that morning when he had kissed her and wished her a happy birthday. It was then that the turbolift doors opened again to let Leonard and Carol Marcus onto the bridge. Spock ignored them and just resumed his report to a still-pacing Kirk.

"It seems that Ensign Brooke is well prepared and has Lieutenant Uhura's approval. As you have already disregarded Ensign Whitten's past discipline issues, then I suppose there is no reason to be concerned about either of them," Spock stated. He then nodded to the two newcomers. "Doctor McCoy. Doctor Marcus." Carol smiled and said hello but then drifted over to a friend who was near the back of the bridge. Leonard, meanwhile, headed straight for Kirk.

"Everything ready in Med Bay Bones?" the captain asked. He paused his pacing behind the captain's chair and leaned against the back, smirking. "I heard you and Scotty had a bit of a fight after you kidnapped my navigator. There a problem I need to know about?" Leonard froze.

"That depends. How much time you got?" He seemed to avoid looking at the viewscreen at all costs, keeping his eyes fixed on Kirk. Not for the first time Nyota wondered about how he'd do in space for five long years… and whether they would need a doctor for him before it was all over.

"Seventeen minutes until departure," Sulu announced from the pilot's seat, and then resumed pretending to not listen to the conversation behind him.

"Seventeen minutes, huh?" Kirk glanced from Leonard to the pilot and back. After a few more moments' hesitation he said, "Alright then, Bones. Come on." He dragged himself up from leaning against the chair and then trudged to the door that led to the hall. Leonard followed, silent.

Nyota turned back to her station to check on everything one last time. Just in case. As she began to tap out a few commands to run diagnostics Spock came up next to her and studied the screen. He leaned in just close enough that they were only a few inches apart. Nyota's fingers stilled over the screen and then reached out and took Spock's hand. It occurred her she should take her last few minutes near Earth to appreciate it and everything she had gotten from it.

Fifty percent of Spock was from Earth, after all.

He raised an eyebrow at her and their entwined hands; then maybe, just maybe, she saw a ghost of a smile flit across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried some fluffy? At the end? Is it fluffy? I can't quite tell. I made the attempt anyway.
> 
> I hope this was a nice reprieve from Bones' and Chekov's endless angst. They're adorable, but they are so high maintenance. Trip over a rock? Concussion. Get the sniffles? Deadly disease. Any sharp object or projectile? DEATH!-!-!-!-!-!
> 
> Maybe they might both avoid that fate here... or maybe not... wink wink nudge nudge


	13. Admission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (All author pen names are those from Fanfiction.net)  
> Hello! I'm back with chapter 13! Big thanks to justok who beta-ed for me!

Chapter 13: Admission

McCoy trailed after Jim when they left the bridge. He hesitated for a moment in front of the door before stepping through. On his back he felt pointed stares from most of the bridge crew and was both relieved and anxious when the door flew shut behind him. Standing in the over lit hallway, out from under prying eyes, was a blessing. Walking down the same hallway toward a discussion where he'd have to relay a few unwanted messages… not so much. But he still trudged the few meters necessary down the hall after Jim, approaching the first command meeting room.

"Computer, black out windows," was the first thing the captain said when they reached the wide room. The floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side faded to black, blocking the view of Earth's horizon and the vast expanse of nothing that lay beyond it. McCoy was almost touched by Jim's consideration.

"Thanks," he coughed, and nodded towards the windows when Jim gave him a confused look.

"Oh, don't mention it," Jim shrugged, and plopped in a random chair on the side of the table next to the wall. That put McCoy's back to the blacked out windows, but he didn't mind that much. Even if they were opaque he'd rather not look at them.

Pleased as he was about the seating arrangements, McCoy could still feel his stomach twist itself into a knot when he thought about how this conversation was going to go. The doctor slid into a chair diagonal from Jim and sat his hands on the table, folded neatly in front of him. There was silence for a few seconds as he worked out how to put what he wanted to say. But then Jim ended it with a dramatic groan.

"Noooo! No, no, no." McCoy just stared at his friend, waiting for the punch line. Less fiercly, Jim continued, "I know that look. That's your bad news look." He looked up at the ceiling and whispered, "And it was going so well!" Settling in, he asked, "Okay, what have you got for me?"

McCoy still didn't know where to start, so he just jumped in.

"I have a couple of things I want to talk about so I'm going to put them all on the table before we discuss any of them. You can pick which to deal with now and which later." McCoy glanced up at the clock above the door. He had better talk fast. "And no talking before I'm done," he commanded, staring at the captain until Jim nodded mutely. Satisifed, McCoy launched into his report. "Okay, first, the reason I 'kidnapped' Pavel. It's the same reason Scotty and I cussed each other out, which I'm sure you've heard about by now. There were a few drops of blood on the floor of shuttle one by the window seat of the second row." Jim's eyes widened.

"Wasn't that Pav-"

"Stop talking," McCoy commanded, and Jim gaped for a moment and then clammed up. "Yes, it was Pavel's seat. That's why I ran and grabbed him without scanning the blood. That was… that was a mistake on my part. Pavel didn't have anything to do with it, and I should have realized that beforehand. There weren't any lacerations earlier when I scanned him during his panic attack and I was watching him the entire time we were on the shuttle, so it didn't happen after I scanned him. But I panicked. I put two and two together, got four, but completely forgot that there was a three in there, too. Anyway, when I realized it wasn't Pavel's blood, I called Scotty into Med Bay. It was the only other option I could think of, that one of his little doo-dads must cut him when he put that pack on… though search me how the blood would have made it over a row of seats. I say 'would have' because he's fine, too. Not a nick on him. That leaves us with someone's unidentified blood on the floor of a shuttle that carried the senior officers of the Starfleet flagship. And this is a shuttle we no longer have access to. I got a message to Commander Schaeffer who organized shuttle transport up to the docking station. She and the pilot checked the floor and the blood was gone. I swear it was there, Jim. I'm not crazy and I'm not a liar." McCoy paused.

Jim, remarkably, adhered to the "no talking rule." It was shocking, really; normally when Jim had that look on his face he would out live the universe trying to get in the last word. The fact that the captain was actually keeping the explosion inside did not do much to settle McCoy's nerves.

"Next is the Ensign Whitten and Brooke… thing. I need full access to their files which, for some reason, are restricted."

To be honest, he'd only tried to look at Brooke's files, but he couldn't even get into the public records for that. Someone, and it could have only been the captain, had completely sealed him out. He ground his teeth together and forced the rest of his report out of his mouth.

"They are restricted, even though I'm the CMO, damn it! And if what Admiral Gallagher said can be even partially believed-" Jim seemed very near spontaneous combustion when that comment left McCoy's mouth, "-even if there is a tiny grain of truth to it, I need to know. And I need to have a discussion with you about why you seem so determined to keep these two, in particular, on board. Even to the point of lying and avoiding your friend. AKA: me." Once Jim deflated and did not look like he was about to burst at the seams, McCoy completed his rant. "And finally, you go near Christine again and I hypo your worthless existence clean into next year."

Jim blinked, clearly thrown for a loop.

"Wait, what? Christine? Who's Christine?" he exclaimed.

"Christine Chapel. She served on the Enterprise a few years back as a nurse, and then you and her were 'you and her' very temporarily, and then she left to be a nurse on a colony world where she decided to pursue a doctorate. Which she now has. She was invaluable before, but now she's indispensable, so if you go near her again in anything other than a professional manner, I will kick your ass. Got it?" McCoy asked. He glanced at the clock; thirteen minutes until the launch. Now it was down to Jim how long this would take.

"Yeah, yeah I get it. I go within five feet of her and dishonor, death, and destruction will rain down on me, you've made yourself perfectly clear. Dishonor on me, dishonor on my ship, dishonor on my cow - But, hey! Aren't you not allowed to threaten people?" And then Jim managed to look like he'd been hit by a truck and been bestowed with the Holy Grail at the exact same instant. "Hold up, wait, wait, wait! Are you and Christine a thing?" he whispered. He leaned over the table and scooted to the edge of his seat, waiting with a Cheshire Cat smile.

McCoy mimicked his body language, putting his arms onto the table and leaning in close. He took a deep breath.

"No," he deadpanned. "Now that we've gotten that over with!" The doctor flung himself backward in his seat and relaxed, throwing his feet up and onto the edge of the table. "Which are we talking about next, the blood or the ensigns?

"We'll talk about the ensigns and I'll deal with the blood later. I'm not saying I won't need your help, but I'll see if I can't get someone who is actually within 50,000 feet of that shuttle to look into it some more. Plus, there's not much we can actually do about it until we get more information. And it'll have to wait until after the launch. Sorry," Jim apologized. He sighed. "Now, as for the ensigns, I really didn't expect you to be this concerned. Normally you're pretty crazy about your job, but I'm gonna be honest, this borders on the fanatical."

"Jim, just get on with it. They're already here and apparently Spock is A-Okay with them, so unless something is really wrong, there's not much I'm going to do at the eleventh hour."

Internally he pleaded, 'Please let Ensign Whitten be someone else, please let Ensign Whitten be someone else…' but he had a sinking feeling that Whitten's first name was Joanna. Which would be bad. Because not only would that mean that Joey had been lying to him for the past four years, it would also mean she was on the Enterprise, hurtling through space at warp speed, and James Tiberius Kirk was at least partially responsible for her continued corporeal existence.

That was not a comforting thought. Would the doctor trust his own life to Jim? In a heartbeat. His daughter's? Snowball's chance in Atlanta.

Plus, Spock had something about Whitten and discipline issues. And that was not something he thought he could deal with without giving himself an ulcer.

"Fine," Jim exhaled. "Ensign Brooke is blind. Whitten is deaf."

Silence.

And then after a few moments McCoy parroted, "Ensign Whitten is deaf." He was numb and unsure whether he was actually surprised or not. Probably not. He felt more resigned than anything else. But then again, he also felt like he wanted to punch something… like Jim. "What is her job? Their jobs, I mean," McCoy asked.

"Uh, Whitten is a stellar cartographer, specializing in gravitational anomalies. Brooke is in communications, specializing in xenolinguistics. He'll be working with Uhura," Jim replied. The response was automatic, clearly rehearsed.

And suddenly McCoy felt an irrational swell of anger.

"Blind and deaf! That is what you were so worried about telling me?" he shouted. He didn't know whether this was a residual knee-jerk from when Joey was little and people would treat her like a pariah, or if he was angry because Jim didn't know him well enough to realize that this was not in any way a problem, or if he was angry with Joey for lying to him for so long about something that important. But that swell of anger had raised its ugly head and was now complete rage.

"Uh, yeah?" Jim squeaked. He'd seen that murderous look in McCoy's eyes before, usually right after Jim did something stupid and got himself hurt.

"Why'd you make such a big deal out of it?" McCoy exclaimed. "It might make life a bit difficult for 'em but I doubt that's anything they're not used to, poor kids! Why? Did you think I'd expel them from the mission? I'm not heartless! If they can make it through the academy there's no reason they can't make it out here!" Jim held up his hands, surrendering.

"Hey, we're on the same side! I just said the same thing not ten minutes ago!" he protested. "I didn't let you know not so you wouldn't find out, but so other people like Admiral Gallagher wouldn't find out and try to hold them back, I swear!"

"Then why am I, specifically, locked out of their files?" McCoy ground out. That one seemed to stump Jim. He sat silent for a few moments before tossing up his hands in exasperation.

"Alright," the captain said, "I was worried you'd ground them. I just really wanted them on this mission. Both of them are amazing in their fields and I just… thought I'd give them a chance. Even if they graduated at the top of their class, I was worried no captain would take them unless ordered. I didn't want them to get stuck on some small, unimportant ship in a random corner of space; and that's assuming they made it off Earth at all. They applied for the Enterprise, they qualified, and I didn't want them stuck somewhere they didn't want to be. So I did everything I could to make sure they got here and could stay. Maybe I took it a bit far, not telling you, and I'm sorry for that. But I was just trying to do for them what Pike did for me." Jim paused and gave McCoy a sheepish grin. "I met Brooke. He's a bit quirky; I think he and Scotty will get along. He even let me pet Baxter, his guide dog. Nice guy in general, I'd say. And Uhura seemed both impressed and put out by his scores. So, yeah. I think I made the right call there." His statement was followed by an awkward silence which McCoy couldn't find a question to fill.

And then he suddenly remembered that Joey got a lot of her looks from him.

"So, uh, you haven't met Jo- uh, Whitten, yet, right?" the doctor asked. Jim's answer would determine whether McCoy was about to start panicking. Considering he just tore the captain a new one for keeping two ensigns secret, he wondered how hypocritical he would seem after Jim found out about Joanna… especially if he found out by just noticing a resemblance between her and the doctor.

"No, I haven't met her," Jim replied.

"Okay, good," is what McCoy said, but his thoughts were more along the lines of, 'Thank God!' He decided to cover his tracks before Jim caught on by himself. "I need to talk to you before then," the doctor said. When Jim opened his mouth to ask why, McCoy cut him off. "Does Ensign Whitten have an interpreter on board? I know PADDs can help with communication by recording people and transcribing what they say and letting her type things for it to say, but interpreters really speed things up."

"Yeah, Ensign Nguyen is another stellar cartographer and signs for her," Jim replied shifting in his seat. "I'll unlock their full files for you after A shift." At McCoy's mutinous look he amended, "Or during. During is an option, too. And then I can send you a direct link, so you don't have any authorization problems."

"Good. But I'll have questions for them. Particularly Joanna. Most actions on the ship are voice prompted, and it's not like Ensign Nguyen doesn't have a life of her own," McCoy said, picking his feet off the table and then rising from his seat.

"His own," Jim corrected. McCoy froze, half out of his chair.

"His? Well, damn." Under his breath McCoy muttered, "Guess I'll be talking to her about that, too." The doctor headed towards the door. "Don't think this conversation is over. I still have some things I need to discuss with you. But it's five minutes 'til the launch and you need to be on the Bridge." He strode out of the room, not looking behind him to see if the captain was following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter today, but I have a good reason for it! This is another one of those "was-supposed-to-be-one-chapter-but-is-now-two" things. I had to cut it off somewhere, and this was the one place it made sense.
> 
> Also, I just finished mapping the rest of the story I haven't hand written yet, and thought I'd just give you all a heads up. There should be about 27-30 chapters total. (You know, barring any more of that chapter 5-8 mess where it was supposed to just be one big chapter and then took up four. This time I think I can keep it to two and that's it :D)
> 
> So, yay! 14 to 17 more chapters before the end; we're almost halfway there! Things start to pick up around 19-20 and chapter 22 makes me evil giggle... heeheheehehee.
> 
> I just looked at the number of people following this story... and there are 41 of you! WHOA! I'm in awe. And really, really happy! Virtual hugs to everyone! I'd also like to take this time to thank all of the reviewers out there, especially consistent ones like klycmep, Afroz, Anonymous Mom, and WildChild13. But, THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO HAS TAKEN THE TIME TO REVIEW! You guys are totally and completely awesome.
> 
> Next chapter should be up on the 15th. Sorry for the slower updates, but I have completely run out of typed chapters. Literally. I have one sentence of chapter 14 typed and that's it. Wish me luck!
> 
> Exclusive to AO3 author's note:  
> This chapter also marks the first real-time chapter update. It was published the same day as the Fanfiction.net chapter. All future chapter should be updated the same day.


	14. Commencement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Hi, everybody! Funny story...
> 
> *Oops, I Did It Again starts playing*
> 
> This is - yet again - part two of three. I tried to pack way too much into one chapter, and the result is now three somewhat smaller chapters. Technically, I think I could have gotten away with what-are-now-chapters-14-and-15 being together, but... it would have been a really long read. So, hopefully you enjoy the early update.
> 
> And also, yay! I finally have a new day that I will update consistently on! From chapter 15 onward (or until I feel like switching it up again) the new update day is Saturday. Next update is the 20th and then we should be back on a weekly schedule.

Chapter 14: Commencement

McCoy swept down the hall, and after a few seconds he heard Jim scramble to catch up. The footsteps grew louder and then the captain popped into view on McCoy's right.

"Hey, you just said 'Joanna' instead of 'Ensign Whitten'! How'd you know her first name? And why'd you use it?" Jim asked, brow furrowing. He began to walk backwards in front of McCoy, peering at him with a perplexed expression. At the first hallway juncture a lieutenant in red and an ensign in gold stood with similar confusion etched on their faces. McCoy noted in passing that the ensign was the pilot that flew shuttle one. Jim gave them a winning smile as he passed them, still walking backwards. "At ease, gentlemen!"

As McCoy passed them he heard the pilot mutter to the man next to him, "Okay, I get it now…" Obviously there were some unkind rumors circulating about the captain. The doors to the bridge flew open at the Jim's approach.

"I told you, I still need to tell you some things. They're kind of important, so try and make it a priority," McCoy grumbled as Jim entered the bridge… still walking backwards.

"Keptin on the bridge!" piped Chekov from the front, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. Several people turned around and McCoy saw shaky smiles and wide eyes from every corner. Jim turned, now aware that he was in public, and continued to his place right-way-forward. There was a palpable excitement as the captain stepped up to his chair, but Jim disregarded it and just plopped down into his seat with all the reverence of a toddler toilet training. McCoy stepped up next to him on the left, surveying the room with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He did that partially to keep his gruff reputation intact and also to stop himself from pulling on the hem of his shirt. It was a nervous habit he was trying to break, but since he never caught himself doing it, he hadn't made any headway.

Even with the precaution of crossing his arms, he couldn't keep still. It didn't look like anyone else could, either. It seemed everyone but Spock was tapping on their stations, playing with their hair, or cracking their knuckles (if the guy in the corner kept doing that, McCoy swore to any deity out there he'd use his most painful hypo when it came time for annual physicals). Every once and a while, a girl to the left of the view screen let out a squeak that no one had yet acknowledged. McCoy made a mental note to check the girl's file for anxiety issues. Random, mouse-like squeaking was not a normal response to stress. After the fourth little "eep", McCoy saw the ensign to the girl's right elbow her and give her a holier-than-thou look. At first the doctor found that rather rude and was about to call the neighbor out on it, but then he saw them reach out and hold each other's hands.

'Guess they're friends. Weird friends, who do weird things, but who am I to talk?' McCoy thought. It was then he became aware he standing next to an empty chair. Jim was up and about, doing his normal 'I'm so awesome, space travel and exploration are casual, la-de-da things for me!' check list.

Confidently striding around the bridge? Check

Abrupt changes in topic? Check

Clapped at least two people on the shoulder? Only one so far, so not quite a check.

Idiom that confuses Spock? Check

Grin that makes the ladies swoon? Check (the cheeky bastard)

McCoy wasn't about to begrudge his friend the routine, though. It was basically Jim's version of nervously tapping a pen on a desk or gnawing on a pencil; just a nervous habit and mostly an act. Sometimes projecting an emotion you want to feel actually helps you feel it; the doctor had done it on more than one occasion when he and his nurses were facing an especially difficult surgery. There were a few people who actually smiled when they were sad, just so people would treat them like they were happy; that, in turn, made them feel better.

It was only a temporary fix, though. Do it too often and it can do more damage than good. When he still worked at Emory in Atlanta, one his friends in the nursing staff had battled severe depression for years and hadn't told anyone; she didn't even want her good friends to know because she didn't want to be treated differently. So, she smiled, trying to fight a losing battle alone while trying to convince everyone (including herself) nothing was wrong.

McCoy looked around the bridge. There were a few people whose nerves were clear, like squeaky-mouse-girl. It was those people he put aside for a moment, instead focusing on the smiling ones. There were a few there whose smiles were genuine or just covering nerves, like Jim. But there were a small number of people who seemed to be covering sadness. It was to be expected; they were leaving most of their families behind. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on crew morale for the next few weeks.

The doctor's gaze snapped to his friends; they were all there except for Scotty. He wondered how bad this was for them and what they were leaving behind. He didn't know much about any of their families, except for Jim and Pavel. McCoy looked over at the young navigator, still dutifully concentrating on the screen before him. 'Please,' the doctor pleaded in his mind; 'let him be all right. Let them all be all right.'

McCoy let his mind wander for a time, but it wasn't long before his eyes fell on the view screen. He'd managed to avoid looking at it so far and thought he'd be able to get off the bridge without really seeing it at all, but no such luck. No holographic images were displayed, so all the screen did was offer a spectacular view of the stars. It was beautiful, he couldn't deny it. It looked peaceful, like snow, though McCoy didn't have much experience with ice beyond what he put in his drinks. But like ice and snow and pretty-looking cold stuff in general, space could kill you. Until you approached one of those distant points of light, everything looked safe and calm. That was a lie though. Deceived by quiet majesty, you let your guard down… and then freeze, die, and EXPLODE.

Yep. Space was pretty. But saying it was safe was a great, big lie. A "liar, liar pants-on-fire-from-getting-near-a-giant-ball-of-plasma" kind of lie.

Out of nowhere, Jim was next to him, talking, and clapping a hand on his shoulder (there was the final check on the Jim Kirk confidence checklist). McCoy had no idea what Jim had said.

"Five years in space, God help me," he groused; it was the first 'Bones-y' comment he could think of.

It must have been the expected answer, because Jim moved past him and then sat in The Chair. There was some more talking – a lot more talking – and a ship-wide broadcast – mostly official checklist type stuff – and then…

"Disengage."

Those distant lights from giant balls of ionized gas began to drift across the view screen and McCoy's stomach lurched. According to his body, the artificial gravity, and the internal inertial dampener, he wasn't moving. According to the plasma balls billions of miles away, he most certainly was. Disconcerting. That's what space was. And McCoy did not like it one bit.

"Ready for warp, sir," Sulu reported from the helm.

The bridge held its breath; not a sound escaped anyone. McCoy felt the urge to double over and maybe puke a little. Five years in space on this flying monstrosity (not that he'd ever use that word around Scotty).

Finally Jim leaned back in his seat.

"Punch it."

The distant was then not-so-distant and there were streaks of light filling the view screen instead of points, flitting by in endless waves (reminded him of the ocean and getting seasick, so he chose to simply ignore the screen for the rest of his time on the bridge). There was a modulating echo as people began to breathe again, letting out shaky puffs of air and nervous laughter. To the shock of all, the first person to speak was the CMO.

"Well, that was anticlimactic." A few people laughed or snorted in appreciation of his wit (he could be funny if the mood struck him) and then returned to what they were supposed to be doing. "If it's all the same to you, Captain, I'll be heading back to my Med Bay now," he stated, staring straight at his friend. He took no notice of the bright lights flashing past the corner of his eye; they came from the view screen and he could very easily ignore them. Very easily, indeed, thank you.

"Sure, sure. You're dismissed. I'll send you those files you asked for," Jim replied, waving him towards the turbolift.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," McCoy called over his shoulder, already approaching the doors to the lift. "Don't get us killed until I get to Med Bay. It'll save time."

"No problem, I'll try not to," retorted the captain. The doors to the turbolift whooshed shut, and McCoy gave his destination to the empty room. The lights in the corners flicked past, a much more welcome sight than the rushing lights outside. When the doors opened on Med Bay's deck he felt the tension in his shoulders release a little, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact cause.

Med Bay wasn't too far from the turbolift; it was central to the ship. It had to be, to be practical. Not only did the radially central position help it be equidistant from all points along the edge of the saucer on a single deck, it also provided extra padding in case the hull was breached. Plus, it was on the middle deck vertically, so everywhere in the main saucer section could be serviced equally. 'Only one problem with that,' McCoy thought, walking sedately down the hall, 'Engineering isn't in the saucer and they're usually the ones with the accidents.' McCoy stepped through the doors to Med Bay.

"Oh, God! Already?" he shouted. Marcus J. Lowen, the terrified red shirt from the shuttle that morning, was laying on a biobed, holding a pack of ice to his forehead. "Five minutes! Not even five minutes! Maybe three minutes underway into a five year mission and we already have an injury! I'm a doctor, not a babysitter, damn it!" McCoy saw Nurse Jenkins duck out of view into the labs, and a few startled Ensigns doing final checks suddenly remembered they had somewhere else they needed to be. McCoy marched up to the biobed to the sight of Marcus struggling to sit up. "Easy, Ensign. Lay back down. I take it a nurse already took a look at you? You remember which one?" Marcus blinked up at him and then sent his gaze roaming across the room.

"I dunno," Marcus mumbled. "Pre'y blon' un'…" he slurred with a dopey smile on his face. Pretty, blonde girl, huh? The was going to be Chapel, Frost, or Schroeder. McCoy took a quick glance around; Frost was in the corner, testing the broken tricorder McCoy had somehow gotten a hold of earlier that day.

"Nurse Frost," McCoy called across the room. She looked up and McCoy gestured toward the biobed where Marcus was now smiling at the ceiling. Frost smirked; whatever had happened had her full of Schadenfreude. McCoy made a mental note to talk to her about the importance of a good bedside manner.

"Chapel," Frost stated and then jerked her head toward McCoy's office door. "She's in your office with Schroeder," she reported, still with a smirk on her face. McCoy really couldn't do much about her natural personality, so he dismissed it from his mind for the moment and walked to his office. Before he entered he stopped himself.

"Do not let him fall asleep," he commanded Frost. McCoy didn't need to stick a tricorder in Marcus' face or shine a penlight in his eyes to tell the kid had a concussion. Frost seemed unconcerned, though. She waved a hand at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it!" she exclaimed, never taking her eyes off of the tricorder, which she was now prying open. McCoy opened his mouth, trying to figure out whether he should call her out on her behavior now or later. He opted for later. McCoy took a split second to flag down little Aarons, the only nurse in the room who hadn't found somewhere else to be when the doctor had walked into the room.

"Keep an eye on Lowen, will you?" he asked the nurse, who nodded and went to stand by the single occupied biobed. McCoy hesitated for another second before opening his office door and was greeted by the sound of laughter.

"I wasn't aware this was social hour," McCoy announced. He had to choke down an undignified giggle when Schroeder tripped over a chair leg in her haste to get to her feet. Chapel rose from her seat in a calm and professional manner, also apparently swallowing her own laughter. "So what happened with Mr. Icepack out there?" McCoy inquired, walking around his desk and sinking into his chair.

"Hit his head on a low clearance beam in Engineering. He managed to give himself a big bruise and a bad concussion. I wanted to wait 'til you got here to treat him so you would have to do the paperwork," Chapel replied, sliding his PADD across the desk. "I thought you wouldn't want to miss out of the first injury on board. You're welcome." She smirked. Frost must have been giving her lessons.

"No, thank you, really, I always appreciate having to fill out five different forms the all ask for the same information and all go to the same place. I love it, I really do; always a fun time," McCoy deadpanned in response. Sighing, he continued, "Go ahead and treat him. But only treat the concussion, leave the bruise. Might make him duck next time."

Chapel turned to the exit where Schroeder was hovering, clutching a hypospray and PADD. They stepped up to the door and it opened at the same time as McCoy cleared his throat. The doctor picked up his PADD and flicked the incident report up, sending it skittering over to the PADD Schroeder held. "Congratulations, Chapel. You get to teach our newest nurse how to do an Enterprise incident report. Have fun." Chapel smirked (she really needed to stop doing that), but Schroeder looked indignant.

"But I already know how to do an incident report! You don't leave the Academy without knowing that!" she protested. If McCoy had to guess, he would say the awkward way she had tensed up was to stop herself from stomping her foot.

"Captain Kirk does things a little bit differently in the filing department," Chapel said, leading Schroeder out of the office. "Tries to make sure the right people always have access to the right information-" McCoy's office door flew shut, cutting off the rest of her sentence. He barely had enough time lean back in his chair before a tiny "Download Pending" notification popped up in the upper right hand corner of the PADD on his desk.

"Speak of the devil…" he said to the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it wasn't THAT short, but even I'll admit that not much happened. Sorry about that. But there's lots and lots of new information in the next chapter!
> 
> Sorry-not-sorry that there's been so much from McCoy recently. McCoy again next chapter and then we finally circle back around to Sulu in chapter 16.
> 
> Thanks again to justokay (fanfiction.net) for beta-ing


	15. Peruse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a series of events that were entirely my fault , only the first half of this chapter has been beta-ed (thanks to justok, for putting up with all of my busy-ness). Hopefully the second half isn't that bad.

Chapter 15: Peruse  
McCoy took a look at the list of new files he had access to. All started with either “Brooke, M.R.” or “Whitten, J.R.”  
Well, that clinched it; even if all of the similarities he’d seen before then hadn’t convinced him Ensign Whitten was Joanna, the initials were the final nail in the coffin. He had suggested “Renee” as Joanna’s middle name for the sole purpose of making her “Joanna Renee McCoy” which shortened to “J.R. McCoy”, or “Junior McCoy”. Well, maybe that wasn’t the sole purpose. Joanna Renee McCoy had a nice rhythm to it…. But still, the initials were actually a big determining factor. As it stood, though, her name looked more like “Whitten Junior”, which McCoy hoped was anything but the case. It was a funny coincidence that Brooke’s first two initials stood for “Mister.”  
McCoy tapped on Brooke’s main file, which blessedly opened. According to the blazing bold letters at the top of the file, Brooke’s full name was Maximilian Rory Brooke. Wow. What a mouthful. The Ensign’s main file didn’t have much to be alarmed by. Blind. Uses guide dog. Friendly. Do Not Pet (A rule that Jim had already broken). Bouts of childhood asthma. He flicked past the public information; he needed to know the nitty-gritty, not the broad generalizations put out there for public consumption. According to his medical history, Brooke was remarkably healthy. He had all of his vaccinations and there weren’t any serious illnesses. The worst of any of them was one bout of strep throat when he was eight and appendicitis when he was eleven. He’d never even broken a bone. He was the picture of health and had passed all of the Starfleet physical examinations required for cadets in the Communications track. Not bad, not bad at all.  
And then McCoy scrolled down to optional medical procedures. His jaw dropped.  
There had been fourteen surgeries attempting to fix Brooke’s eyes. McCoy idly wondered at how miraculous it was that not a single one of those had resulted in any infections.  
Brooke had been born blind and his parents had tried three times in the first year of his life to have his eyes fixed. None of the surgeries worked and the doctor had told Brooke’s parents to stop putting the poor kid through all the trauma of surgery and just learn to live with it. Outraged at the doctor’s refusal of another attempt, they’d gone to a different doctor they found through an advertisement; that man operated on little-one-and-a-half-year-old Brooke yet again, this time leaving the side of the child’s face scarred.  
McCoy switched files to personal history. After that fourth surgery, Brooke’s parents had sued the second doctor for malpractice (they remarkably had the good sense to leave the first doctor out of the mater). The lawsuit resulted in the revelation of several other botched procedures and a forged doctorate. McCoy felt his lips curl into a sneer and his nostrils flare. He remembered seeing reports about the case on TV. The not-doctor had been condemned to twenty years in prison, days before little Brooke’s third birthday…  
McCoy felt his stomach drop to the floor when he realized that case had been just over twenty years before and that monster was out again, roaming the streets. The revulsion he felt brought back a memory of the same feeling. He was standing in a bakery at two in the morning. Windows made foggy with water stains revealed nothing but a dark street outside; the sole light inside was a whining, fluorescent tube that hung from the ceiling. In the corner was an old tube television, secured to the wall with only duck tape and prayer, swaying in a way that made McCoy take a step and a half backwards. Rachel had been pregnant with Joey at the time, and Leonard-the-most-awesome-est-amazing-est-fantastic-est-husband-ever was driven from his home in search of an orange muffin and a chocolate drizzled bear claw at one in the morning. It had taken him an hour to even find an open bakery. That was how he had ended up there, shoes squeaking on a suspiciously sticky floor and staring at the rerun of a news story from that afternoon. When McCoy heard the number of lives that imposter had managed to ruin, he’d nearly thrown up. The sickly sweet odor coming from the back of the store did not help his stomach settle, and he walked out of the dingy bakery feeling strangely irate and nauseated at the same time.  
It was almost surreal, how well he remembered that night. It was just over two decades prior and he could still remember walking outside the bakery’s clouded door and smelling the odor of ozone. The smell heralded rain that would drench him as he walked back into the house, finding half the cookies he had baked that afternoon devoured… despite the fact that he’d left them in for too long and they were essentially lumps of charcoal. He could remember everything about his life at the time. He’d been halfway through medical school, a newlywed (sort of; it had been a little less than a year), and a soon-to-be-father. Aside from being up in the middle of the night in a part of town he never wanted to go to again, he’d been happy as a clam. ‘Funny the curve balls life can throw at you…’ McCoy thought, staring blankly at the Starfleet PADD on his desk. He shook himself and resumed looking at Brooke’s record of optional surgery.  
Some of the operations were minor, just cosmetic attempts to reduce the appearance of the scars. There were two major tries at restoring Brooke’s eyesight, both failed. All of the cosmetic surgery had failed, too. Well, it had helped, just not a lot. Turns out Brooke had hypertrophic scarring. In layman’s terms that just meant overactive scar tissue. Figures. Not only was the kid healthy, his body was too good at healing itself. He was basically the medical opposite of Jim.  
McCoy flicked over to Brooke’s personnel file to pull up his Starfleet ID picture to see just how bad the end result was. He winced when the picture popped up, but all things considered, it wasn’t too bad. The webs of scarring were a bit jarring against Brooke’s dark skin, but it was less extensive than McCoy had initially expected. Some of the cosmetic surgery had to have worked better than reported. Or maybe the original damage wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Scrolling back up to the top of the page, McCoy made a mental note to ask Brooke whether the remaining scars caused any pulling or discomfort, since he knew he could help with that.  
‘I am making way too many mental notes,’ McCoy thought, and pulled up a blank page on his PADD to type up the few he could remember making that day.  
-call in Ensign Brooke for consultation (scars, guide dog, special accommodations, etc)  
-call in all crew with dog allergies for allergy shots  
-ask for periodic reports on crew morale from Chiefs and Commanders (Not Spock. Vulcans are not good with human morale evaluation)  
-check weird-ass broken tricorder  
‘Wait… Frost is doing that.’ McCoy deleted the note.  
-Kidnap Scotty for psych eval and conversation re: “too perfect ship”  
-Kidnap Sulu for psych eval and conversation re: “too perfect ship” and keeping your nose in your own damn business  
-Pavel  
McCoy hesitated, wondering what to write about the navigator.  
He couldn’t do a psych eval. If Starfleet caught wind they would wonder why he was doing another one so soon. About three months before, just after Pavel’s accident, they’d asked for one. The doctor grimaced at the memory… but not of the psych eval; he’d never done one. He cringed at the thought of fudging it. He’d never told anyone about the request; not Pavel, not Jim. He had just taken the results of the last one, changed a few things around, and resubmitted it. He had done a bang up job, too. No one had questioned it.  
McCoy had been sure at the time that being with his friends would be the best thing for Pavel. The little navigator didn’t have any family he was very close to. He and his mother had corresponded a few times, but that was about it; there was love there, sure, but other than that mother and son didn’t have much in common. The result was an amiable silence most of the time, approved of by both parties. So, much like McCoy, Pavel had found Jim and the bridge crew of the Enterprise a perfect, but dysfunctional, substitute family. That was why McCoy had thought that keeping Pavel as close to his friends as possible – and as far away from Earth, but that was another story entirely – was the best thing for him. So, the doctor had fudged the results for fear the actual ones would take the navigator away from the family he desperately needed.  
Now, though, he felt an uncomfortable shift in energy among the bridge crew, especially Pavel. McCoy didn’t know what he was worried about precisely. According to his most recent conversation with the navigator, nothing was wrong. That didn’t change the panic attack though, and it didn’t change the truth of McCoy’s gut feeling, developed through years of experience. Something was wrong, even though he didn’t know what it was.  
He just decided to leave the note as it was. “Pavel”  
Growling, McCoy tugged on his shirt’s hem and then snatched his hand back when he realized what he was doing. There was one last note he needed to make. One fist was clenched on the edge of the desk, trembling; with his other hand, he jabbed the keys on the screen.  
“J”  
“O”  
“A”  
“N”  
“N”  
Slamming his finger onto the delete button, the cursor flew backwards; it removed not only “Joann-”, but “Pavel” and “-amn business” as well. After retyping the last two notes on the list, McCoy saved the file and minimized it, leaving Joey’s name off the bottom. He wouldn’t need reminding for that anyway.  
McCoy stared at the clock in the corner, the second hand ticking away without a care in the world. He took a few deep breaths – four ticks in, four ticks out, four ticks in, four ticks out – and then gave Joanna Renee Whitten’s file a sharp jab before he could stop himself. He navigated to the scanned image of her ID card. The girl in the picture was Joey. No mistaking that little half-smile. McCoy thought it best to ignore the look in her eyes that accompanied it; maybe she had just been having a bad day and that was why there was such a hard edge to her stare.  
“Well. Crap,” McCoy sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and leaning back in the cold plastic chair. He stared at the ceiling for a minute, and wondered whether he should tell someone that there was a small discoloration in the corner shaped roughly like a teddy bear.  
There were several muted impulses fighting for attention. He wanted to throw the PADD across the room like a child. He wanted to race through the ship, snatch Joey from her station, and toss her in an escape pod back to Earth. He wanted to throttle Jim for keeping his pet project ensigns a secret, because if McCoy had known he could have stopped Joey from getting on the ship at all. And he wanted to make a mad dash to wherever Joey was, pick her up, and hug her harder than ever before; even harder than the first time he saw her after the divorce was finalized.  
It was only when the desk started shaking that McCoy remembered his death grip on its edge; he released it, his white knuckles turning red from the rush of blood. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he was feeling all of this now; he had already basically known Joey was Ensign Whitten. Who else could it have been? Another brown haired, grey eyed, deaf girl who just happened to have his jaw and nose and look exactly like his most recent picture of Joey?  
The picture hadn’t been sent to him by Joanna. It was her roommate, Macy, who made the effort to keep McCoy informed on his daughter’s whereabouts. ‘Not well enough, it seems.’ The thought swam to the surface of McCoy’s mind and he unconsciously navigated to the photo gallery. As CMO, he was able to have all of his personal files uploaded directly to his PADD instead of having a locked file in the main computer.  
Thumbnails of twenty years worth of photographs popped up on the screen, and ninety percent of them were Joey. They were all labeled by date, the oldest ones at the top; the first few were taken when Joey hadn’t even been born yet. They were scanned Polaroids of the nursery, where little ducks and turtles smiled from the walls. That had been the compromise he and Rachel had come up with when they had an argument over Joey’s room.  
Rachel had wanted a pink, white, and purple princess theme, and McCoy had been more than happy to let her take the reins at first. But, then a pillow the color of Pepto-Bismol had crossed the threshold of his house. After that, he had to put his foot down. Trying to temper the endless waves of tiaras and princess decorations, McCoy had claimed to want a navy and white ocean theme for the nursery. Rachel had been appalled and had thrown a roll pillow covered with frolicking unicorns at his head. The ensuing argument had held many alternatives proposed by both sides; cowgirl, meadow, fairy (Dear Lord, no! That would be worse!), jungle... But the final decision was a woodland pond scene, done in light green, yellow, and blue; that way, he wouldn’t feel the urge to spew glitter and kick defenseless baby unicorns every time he entered his daughter’s room. Which was really what McCoy had wanted all along.   
The first picture that actually had his daughter in it showed tiny, newborn Joanna Renee in a yellow knit cap, sleeping soundly in her hospital basinet. It was odd, seeing her like that; from about day 2 of her life onward, she had been a bundle of activity and noise. McCoy felt a bittersweet nostalgia when he realized that might have been the only time before the age of ten that Joey had kept her mouth shut. Ten was when she had lost her hearing.  
McCoy scrolled past pictures of horses and birthday parties and talent shows, finally ending up at the age 16-20 range. There were about fifteen pictures, only four of which had been sent by Joey.  
The most recent picture of Joey was from the previous August. It was of Macy and Joey sitting on a bench in an aquarium; it was one of those themed aquariums, where the underwater tunnels people can walk through are made to look like stone and the benches look “natural.” Macy and Joey leaned together, both trying to get in the picture. Curly brown hair mingled with curlier auburn, though both looked dark brown in the low lighting. Next to both of them sat black drawstring bags that-  
“Wait a minute.” The words left McCoy’s mouth unbidden and echoed softly around the room. He narrowed his eyes and enlarged the picture on the bag next to Macy. He hadn’t seen it the first time, too busy looking at his daughter to care what anything else looked like.  
That bag. Had. The damn. Starfleet. Emblem. On it.  
McCoy scrolled back to the previous picture, another one that Macy had the good grace to send him. He hadn’t realized it the first time, because he hadn’t been looking for it, but the window behind Joey showed a clear view of Starfleet headquarters’ grounds. He scrolled backward again. In every picture Macy had sent, there was a nod to Starfleet. In every picture Joey sent, all indications of location were carefully concealed by framing and creative blocking. Joey had deliberately avoided letting her father know she had enlisted and had apparently demanded that her roommate not tell him either. But apparently, Macy hadn’t agreed and tried to drop hints anyway. For the past four years. Again, he spoke without meaning to.  
“I am an idiot.”  
“What makes you say that?”  
McCoy jumped a foot in the air; he hadn’t even heard the door open. Sulu stood in the entry, his entire face red as a beet with a dripping nose and watering eyes in its center.  
“Nothing. What happened to you?” the doctor asked. He quickly closed all of the open files on his PADD. He didn’t want to look at them anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that's it for this chapter! I hope it cleared some things up! Next chapter will be from Sulu's perspective and we get to see Brooke, as well as someone else who will be important. Chapter 16 will be titled 'Riveted,' if that tells you anything *eyebrow wiggle*. After that, more than likely we'll have the time skip.
> 
> There might be a time skip in the uploading of chapters as well, since, uh, this is it. This is basically all I have, aside from the plot. I've been really busy, so I'm not as far ahead as I thought I'd be (I'm not ahead at all, actually). I hope I can fix that, but no guarantees... Aside from next week's chapter! That will most definitely go up this time next Saturday, with a clearer view of a future update schedule. I hope I can stick with the every Saturday thing, but we'll see.
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading! I really appreciate you sticking with this story, despite the recent sporadic updates.
> 
> See you next week! :)


End file.
